Past the Point of No Return
by Aini NuFire
Summary: AU 5x18 When Dean used that banishing sigil on Cas, he sent the angel back to Heaven—straight into Zachariah's clutches. Will the Winchesters get Castiel back? Or will it be too late?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is an ANGSTY fic. I didn't think I could write something more painful than** ** _Soul Crossed_** **, but, er, yeah. It started with just an AU idea, and then progressed into some heavy stuff. So be forewarned, this is not happy, though there will be comfort and hope at the end. Possible triggers with canon-typical torture, depression, and suicidal thoughts.**

 **Thanks to 29pieces for beta reading. Lines from the episode "Point of No Return" will pop up throughout several chapters. They're not mine. Nor is the show or its characters.**

* * *

Chapter 1

Castiel was unaccustomed to such…human feelings. He was an angel, a soldier, built to follow Heaven's orders. And yet since the First Seal was broken and the Apocalypse was looming, Castiel had begun to feel—fear, doubt, fondness for his human charges. Most recently he'd become acquainted with the emotion of anger. Which was strange, for he had executed orders in the name of righteous anger, righteous wrath. This, however, was completely different. It twisted at Castiel's core, coursed through his blood to the point he wanted to let it explode and hit something. After all, he'd seen Dean lose his temper in such a manner. But that was the problem: Dean was human, and Castiel was not supposed to feel such things. Plus, it was Dean he wanted to hit at the moment.

After everything, the eldest Winchester had run off with the intention of saying yes to Michael. Castiel and Sam had caught up with him, though, dragged Dean back to Bobby's house and locked him in the panic room. But Castiel was still angry. He'd given everything for the Winchesters, so they would not be forced into destinies they did not want. And Dean was throwing all that back in his face, declaring the sacrifices and pain worthless.

And now there was another feeling, one that brought near-crippling pain without the cut of a blade. Castiel's eyes registered the angel banishing sigil Dean had painted on the wall in the panic room, and yet his mind could not process what he was seeing. Not until Dean had spoken with a callous, triumphant smirk, "Hey, Cas," and slammed his bloody palm on the sigil. Then Castiel's world had erupted in blinding white light and searing agony as the power of the sigil plowed into him, ripping him from the earthly plane. Castiel had experienced the bitterness of betrayal when Uriel had turned on him, but it had not hurt as much as it did coming from Dean.

Castiel tumbled through the ether until the current of the spell deposited him roughly on a smooth marble surface. He lay there for a moment, dazed and trying to catch his breath. Whorls of white, gold, and peach clouds floated in an endless canopy void of sun, moon, or stars. Heaven only needed the light of the divine. Adrenaline spiked through Castiel; he needed to move, _now_.

Pushing himself up, he flexed his wings in preparation for flying back to earth, but they quivered in response, the sensation of tingling needles running up and down the nerves. Castiel cringed against the pain. His wings had been singed in the nova-like force of the sigil, and could not support flight at the moment. He'd need to find somewhere to hide instead.

Castiel stumbled to his feet and began to weave his way through the polished field. Perhaps no one had noticed his crash landing, and he might slip away without raising an alarm. He should have known better.

A thwack of wing beats announced the arrival of three angels come to investigate the disturbance. Castiel broke into a run. They did not raise a shout upon spotting him, but Castiel felt their intent home in on him as they gave pursuit. He ducked into one of the halls, darting between opal pillars in the hopes of losing them.

One angel materialized directly in front of him, and on instinct, Castiel threw a punch that caught the angel off guard and sent him smashing into a support column. Castiel dropped his angel blade into his hand and kept running.

A swish of wings rushed past him, and Castiel whirled, throwing up his blade to block a blow aimed at his back. Metal clanged with a resounding echo throughout the hall.

"What do we have here?" the red-headed angel spoke, a gleeful grin splitting his face. "Castiel."

Castiel shoved hard, throwing his attacker back. He whirled, only to come face to face with two more angels. They converged on him simultaneously, and while he was able to parry one blow, the other angel swooped in and wrenched Castiel's other arm behind his back. The flat of a blade struck his wrist, knocking his own sword from his grip. Then his other arm was grabbed and yanked taut, trapping him.

The red-haired angel stepped forward, grinning wider. "Welcome home, brother. Oh, Zachariah is going to love this."

Castiel struggled to break free, but his grace was still raw from the effects of the banishing sigil, and with him being cut off from the Host, his strength was considerably less than his brothers'. Oren, the red-headed angel, stepped away for a moment, canting his head as though listening to something. A moment later there was a flutter of wings, and Castiel's former superior was standing before them.

"And what do we have here?" Zachariah roved his gaze up and down Castiel, shrewd eyes taking in every detail and savoring it with a delighted glint in his eyes. "Oh-ho, is this Dean's work? Guess when you taught him that banishing sigil you didn't expect him to turn around and use it on you, hm?" Zachariah stepped closer and reached out to straighten the collar of Castiel's coat. "Now what, pray tell, did you do to piss him off?"

Eons of training urged Castiel to duck his gaze deferentially, yet he fought to keep his head up. He would not be cowed in the face of corruption.

"Hm," Zachariah continued, nonchalantly brushing some dirt from Castiel's shoulder. "Does it have anything to do with why Adam Milligan isn't where he's supposed to be?"

Castiel swallowed hard. Zachariah would naturally be furious about yet another wrinkle in his grand plan to secure a vessel for Michael.

The seraph's hand moved to grip Castiel's tie, jerking the lower angel's head forward. "Where is the boy, Castiel?"

"It doesn't matter," he ground out, chest constricting with grief as the full weight of the situation hit him. "Dean's ready to say yes."

Zachariah's brows furrowed first in doubt, then with contemplation. He let go of Castiel and took a step backward. "Really? I'd suspect a trick, except I'm guessing that's how you ended up here. Tried to stop Dean-o, did you? I've learned the hard way that once that kid's set his mind on something, well…" Zachariah shrugged, face cracking into a grin. "So you gave up everything for that mud monkey and he signed your death warrant. That come as a surprise to anyone here?" He spread his arms and looked questioningly at the other angels. They didn't verbally respond, though their smug smirks were answer enough.

Castiel gritted his teeth, heart clenching with the hard truth of the matter. Did Dean realize what he was doing when he banished Castiel from the panic room? Had he given any thought to the fact that Castiel was wanted by every angel in Heaven, and sending him straight to them was essentially sending him to his death? Had it occurred to Dean at all? …Had he cared?

Probably not. Dean had decided to say yes, decided to herald in the ending of the world. Whether here in Heaven or later on earth, Castiel would die because he'd chosen to side with the humans. And they would lose.

Zachariah clapped his hands together and rubbed them gleefully. "Let's go wait for that call, shall we?"

Castiel gave one last, half-hearted struggle before the angels restraining him flapped their wings and he was whisked away to whatever punishment Zachariah had in store. Somehow, though, Castiel couldn't imagine it'd be worse than what he was feeling now.

* * *

Sam was going to strangle his brother. Or pummel him. Or both. How could Dean do this to them? After everything they'd been through? After Dean's spiel about how they were all each other had, how they 'keep each other human'. Now all of a sudden Dean didn't trust Sam to resist the Devil? Didn't believe in his younger brother? That's what Dean had said, right to Sam's face.

 _"I don't believe. In you."_

That son-of-a-bitch had _no right_ , not after everything. They were going to make their own future. That's what Dean had said when they'd reunited after a stretch apart. And Sam had _believed_. He'd decided to fight with everything he had, because his older brother had his back. And now Dean was willing to throw it all away, to go say yes to Michael and become an archangel's condom. Thank goodness Sam had Cas to help him track Dean down and stop him before he did something irreversible. But then the angels had to go and resurrect their half-brother, Adam, and Dean's self-sacrificing, protective instincts were rearing up all the more fiercely. Sam knew his brother felt desperate, felt the weight of the world on his shoulders—like Sam didn't? But he'd never expected Dean to go and do this. The angel-banishing sigil on the wall, Cas's absence, and the empty panic room said it all. Dean was going down this path, the rest of them be damned. Well, not if Sam had a thing to say about it.

He glanced at his cell phone as he steered the Impala one-handed through the streets of Sioux Falls, the GPS in Dean's phone blinking steadily as Sam closed in on his brother's position. Dean hadn't taken his beloved car to his doom, either because he couldn't bring himself to abandon her as callously as he was everyone else, or he just didn't want the raucous engine giving his escape away. It made Sam angry all over again.

He finally pulled alongside the curb when the signal showed Dean was nearby. Putting the Impala in park, Sam scanned the street and sidewalks, wondering what the heck his brother was doing downtown. A patch of hunter green wove through the crowd, and Sam snapped his full attention toward the familiar jacket. He squinted through the windshield. Why would Dean be walking up to a street side preacher…? _Oh no_.

Wrenching the door open, Sam bolted from the car and across the street. The preacher was falling to his knees as though in prayer, and Sam's heart leaped into his throat.

"Our father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name—"

Sam barreled up the sidewalk, and before he could think about it, had clocked the preacher so hard he crumpled like a paper bag, falling back behind a pile of garbage.

"What the hell—" Dean started to exclaim, but was cut off when Sam grabbed him by the collar and dragged him into an alley. There he shoved his brother against the wall.

"Are you crazy, Sam?" Dean tried to push him off, and Sam finally snapped. All his feelings of anger and betrayal erupted like a volcano, surging out through a mean right hook. His fist collided with Dean's jaw with a thud that sent the older Winchester onto the pavement.

"Me? You're the one about to throw it all away. Everything we fought so hard to protect!"

Dean spat a glob of blood onto the ground before looking up. "Yeah, 'cause we've done such a bang-up job," he caustically retorted.

"So you're just gonna throw in the towel? Make all those sacrifices meaningless? Ellen and Jo died for nothing?"

Dean staggered to his feet and threw himself at Sam, the full force of his weight propelling them both back against the other wall. Dean's fist slammed into Sam's cheek once. "They did die for nothing!" Then again, and Sam tasted blood. "The Colt didn't work. There's no way to stop the Devil."

Sam ducked the third swing and drove his knee into Dean's stomach. The air punched from his brother's lungs with a heave, and Sam took the moment to hit him again. Grabbing the back of Dean's jacket, Sam swung him around and threw him against a chain-link fence. Dean hit the ground hard.

"We'll find a way, Dean!"

He coughed to re-catch his breath. "And in the meantime how many more are gonna die? What about Adam? I told you, no one else is taking a bullet for me."

Sam moved to loom over him, but Dean didn't get up. "You know what, you're so full of shit," Sam snapped. "All that crap about me not being strong enough. What does this make you, huh? _You're_ the one giving in."

Dean glared up at him, clutching his ribs and wincing with each breath. "I'm doing what I have to!"

"No, you're doing what's easy. The coward's way out."

Dean's brows shot up with indignation. "You think becoming an angel condom is _easy_?"

"Yeah, because then you don't have to watch it happen. Don't have to keep fighting." Sam swallowed hard, his expression softening just a fraction. "I know you're tired, Dean. So am I. But we can't…the _world_ is counting on us to fight. Even when it feels like we've got nothin' left." He paused, throat growing tighter. "And if you do this…what am I gonna have? Who's…who's gonna keep me human?"

Dean looked away, and Sam slowly sank to his knees on the cold, damp pavement so he could look his brother in the eye.

"You're right not to have faith in me," Sam admitted sadly. "I'm not strong enough, not without you. But I've always had faith in you, Dean. Always. And I know that you're not doing this now because you believe it's right. If you think about it for more than a minute, I think you'll realize it, too."

Dean shook his head, eyes glistening with moisture. "Just stop, Sam."

"You're the one who said we had to stick together. That it was the only way we'd stop that future you saw from coming true," Sam pressed. "I'm here, Dean, and I'm not going anywhere."

Dean glanced back with a bleak look. "And if that future comes true anyway?"

"It won't be your fault. But…I swear to you I won't let you down, Dean. I won't say yes to Lucifer. If that's the last thing I can give you…"

"No, Sam." Dean pushed himself upright. "I'm sorry, I never should've said that to you."

Now it was Sam's turn to duck his gaze. "You're right, though. I've been weak before."

Dean's hand reached out to grip his shoulder. "Hey, no. Don't go down that road again." He let out a sharp breath. "Dammit, I'm a real jackass."

Sam's mouth twitched. "Kinda."

Dean gave him a light shove, but then his expression quickly sobered again. "I…I don't get it, Sam. Why are you still bettin' on me?"

He shrugged. "You're still my big brother." Sam glanced over his shoulder toward the street, hoping the preacher didn't wake up soon. Standing up with a grimace, he held his hand out to help Dean up. "So, ready to get back in the ring?"

Dean winced as he straightened, and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "Guess I don't have much of a choice."

"Nope," Sam agreed, and started heading back to the Impala. He slowed as he approached the car, but Dean didn't veer around to the driver's seat or ask for the keys; he simply slid into the passenger's side with a grim air. Sam got behind the wheel and started the engine.

"So, uh, how pissed is Cas?" Dean asked nervously.

"Dunno. He wasn't back yet when I left to find you." Sam angled a sidelong look at Dean. "That was a dick move, you know."

Dean ran a weary hand down his face. "Yeah, I know."

When he didn't say anything else, Sam cleared his throat. "You gonna actually apologize, or just pretend it didn't happen?"

"What is this, kindergarten? Cas'll understand."

Sam rolled his eyes and turned his attention fully on the road. He'd talked Dean off of the ledge—for now, at least. But he still had another obstinate brother waiting for them back at Bobby's, and a host of angels gunning for them. Sam may have claimed he had faith in Dean, but the truth was he didn't know how they were gonna survive this shit storm.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 _"Didn't learn your lesson the first time, did you, Castiel? All those human emotions are messy. Distasteful."_

Castiel shuddered with each strike of the hammer that broke skin and shattered bone. He felt shrill screams wrench past strained vocal cords, heard the answering shout of violent retaliation as the hammer rained down again. It wasn't really happening, and certainly not to his vessel, but Castiel felt every single aspect of the memory Zachariah had plucked from who knew where. Castiel felt the woman's terror, and her husband's rage, the sense of betrayal on both their parts. The shattered love that lay like broken glass on the floor splattered with her blood. He pleaded for mercy and forgiveness along with her, his grace coiled into this facsimile Zachariah had constructed, forced to look out of the eyes of this frail human as the one she loved and trusted utterly destroyed her.

It was one of a long series of human moments Zachariah had subjected him to. Before, when Castiel hadn't known better, experiencing these memories had convinced him that ushering in the Apocalypse would be a mercy to these poor, defiled and defiling, creatures. But Castiel did know better now. And he knew no amount of begging would stop Zachariah's cruelty. Castiel was ashamed for even thinking of repenting, for pleading forgiveness from Heaven as the woman did her husband. But with every blow of the hammer, Castiel understood that it was futile. There would be no mercy for either of them lest it came in death.

Castiel was suddenly yanked from the puppet show, his grace slammed back into the present where his vessel was strapped down on a rack. A pristine silver one, starkly different from Hell's own grungy torture chambers, yet its function was the same. Castiel blinked rapidly as he tried to reorient himself. The room he was in was sparse, save for a pedestal stationed near his head with an orb swirling with multi-colored lights. The remnant auras of Zachariah's choice tool for 're-education.'

"Castiel," the seraph tutted, coming into view to loom over him. "I'm a little disappointed here. I mean, you said Dean was finally ready, and yet he still hasn't called. I'm beginning to feel stood up."

Castiel swallowed hard, the throat of his vessel parched, perhaps from screams he hadn't realized he'd been making. He had no idea how much time had passed on earth while they'd been in Heaven, nor why Dean wouldn't have made contact already. "Maybe…" he croaked, pausing to wet his lips. "Maybe Sam caught him trying to leave." Not that it mattered. Dean would escape his younger brother eventually.

Zachariah drummed his fingertips on the edge of the silver slab. "Well, I'm getting impatient. Do you have any idea how this makes me look?"

"Like a dumbass?" Castiel replied before he realized what he was saying. The insult even felt strange on his tongue, a slur subconsciously dug up from a memory of Dean Winchester. And those kinds of memories hurt.

Zachariah's jaw tightened. "It seems I haven't quite chosen the proper scenarios for you, Castiel. But since you seem a fan of Dean's debauchery, how about a revisit of the ape's time in Hell? Nothin' like the view from right under the knife…" Zachariah waved his hand sharply.

"No—" Castiel's plea was cut off as his grace was once again thrown into the sphere of auras, thrust into the consciousness of a soul bound to a rusted, gore-covered rack, with the shadow of Dean Winchester standing over them holding a serrated blade.

* * *

It'd been a long time since Dean had felt like a chastised child, not since their dad had still been alive. But upon walking into Bobby's house that night, his shoulders immediately slumped with shame. Bobby didn't even have to say anything, just bored recriminating eyes into Dean as he shuffled into the den. He would've turned right back around if not for Sam bringing up the rear, hemming him in. He felt trapped, and maybe his younger brother still considered him a flight risk, though for slightly different reasons at the moment. Sam was right; Dean was a coward.

Adam was sitting slouched on the makeshift bed, arms crossed with a sulking moue. Dean didn't know what to say to the kid. 'Sorry, looks like you're still in the running to be an angel condom'? 'Be strong, keep on believin''?

Bobby leaned back in his wheelchair, eyeing both Dean's and Sam's noticeable bruises. "You get all the stupid out of your system?" he asked gruffly.

Dean rolled his shoulder, wincing at the twinge in his muscles. "Yeah…yeah, we're good."

The older hunter snorted, obviously not buying it. Dean didn't blame him. He'd betrayed their trust in the worst way, and an apology wasn't gonna cut it.

Sam glanced around the room. "Cas still not back yet?"

Bobby just shrugged and shot another accusatory glare Dean's way.

Dean tried to ignore how his chest constricted. "Maybe he finally realized I wasn't worth the trouble," he said with forced glibness in order to cover up the unruly emotion behind the words. He owed Cas a lot more than an apology, too.

"So what now?" Adam spoke up. "You're just gonna hide out here while the rest of the world burns?"

"No," Sam snipped. "We're gonna figure out a way to stop it."

Adam rolled his eyes. An hour ago, Dean would've done the same. An hour ago he'd been dead-set on taking the one-way ticket out of dodge via archangel express. Now that he'd promised Sam he wouldn't, Dean just felt…worn. Empty. Part of him wanted to still fight, really. But with what?

"Look, we're all beat," he said. "Why don't we take a break, catch some z's, regroup in the morning."

Bobby narrowed his eyes. "Sounds nice and reasonable. It just an excuse so you can rabbit again?"

Dean bristled. "No."

"Mind sleeping in the panic room, then? You know, just in case."

Dean sucked in a sharp breath in preparation to argue…but all the fight had left him back in that alleyway. Besides, he deserved it. "Fine, whatever." He turned on his heel and headed for the stairs.

"Dean…" Sam followed after him. "Hey, you don't have to do that."

"It's fine, Sam. Not like I haven't let you rot in there."

"Bobby's just…" Sam shrugged helplessly.

Dean paused at the top of the steps leading down to the basement. "Yeah, well, he's got every right to be pissed at me. You all do."

"Self-flagellation isn't the way to make it up to us."

"That's not what I'm doing," Dean insisted, and rubbed a weary hand down his face. "Look, if it makes him more comfortable, I'll just deal for the night, okay?"

Sam sighed, shoulders slumping with exhaustion and defeat. "Okay."

With one last awkward, commiserative look, Sam headed back to the den, and Dean headed down to the panic room. The cot down there wasn't exactly comfortable, but he was fried enough it didn't really matter. He collapsed onto the creaky canvas and spent a few moments staring up at the lazy fan in the ceiling. Sleep came much more quickly than he expected, and with it a rather sedate dream.

Dean instantly recognized it as a dream: the tranquil lakeside dock bathed in a warm incandescence. An idle fishing pole sat propped up against the edge of the small pier, a cooler of beer waiting to be popped open. Dean was standing up on the bank, his consciousness slowly lulling into the rhythm of the dreamscape. He almost fell into it, almost went down to pick up that fishing pole and block out all his problems. But the scenery turned slightly crisper as a new presence filled the space. Dean turned, expecting to find an angry Cas ready to chew him out. What he found instead sent a jolt of panic through him.

"Dean, Dean, Dean," Zachariah tutted as he strode forward.

Dean took a nervous step backward, but halted before he could trip and fall in the lake. How did he wake himself up from this?

"Please tell me your worthless brother has you hog-tied somewhere, and that's why you haven't called me yet," the dickbag angel continued.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Zachariah raised his brows expectantly. "I thought you were ready to say yes? So just tell me where you are and we'll come pick you up. No muss, no fuss."

Dean frowned. "Who told you I was gonna say yes?" Sam had clocked that preacher before the guy could even get a message out to the angels. Had he passed it on anyway after he'd woken up?

"Um, a very reliable source. Well, I did doubt him at first, but after a few rounds in the spin cycle, he seemed pretty convincing."

Dean clenched a fist. "You tortured some preacher just to be sure he wasn't lying?"

Zachariah furrowed his brow. "Preacher? I'm talking about Castiel. He said you were ready to say yes. And here I've been waiting and waiting—"

" _Cas?_ " Dean sputtered in disbelief. Cas had gone to the angels to tell them Dean was going to say yes? Had he been that pissed off? Really?

Zachariah canted his head in careful consideration, and after a prolonged beat, a spark lit his eyes in a way that made Dean stiffen. "Oh no. Oh, this is good." A grin split his ugly mug, and Zach started shaking his head in amusement. "You really are one self-absorbed little bastard. You used that banishing sigil on Castiel, didn't you? To get him out of your way?" Zachariah barked out a manic laugh. "You sent him right to me, Dean-o. I have to thank you for that, by the way. The little rebel was really making me look bad. But now I'm rectifying that."

Dean's blood seemed to turn to ice in his veins. No, he hadn't…he'd…he'd just sent Cas 'away', not…not to _Heaven_.

But that's exactly what he'd done. Sent Cas to the one place where he was hunted by every single winged dick in the universe. Dean hadn't thought…maybe in the back of his mind he figured Cas would pop in at the pearly gates, then pop right back out. This…he'd never meant for _this_ …

"Where is he?" Dean managed to ground out.

Zachariah merely grinned, and the term 'devilish' had never fit someone more aptly than it did now. "At the moment? Enjoying first-hand experience of some of _your_ highlights from Hell…handpicked from the last ten years or so of your stay." He laughed again, and the sound grated on Dean's ears like the echoes of chains and tortured screams. This couldn't be happening…

Dean wanted to lunge at the smarmy angel, slam his fists into the pompous bastard's face and demand he let Cas go. But Dean's legs felt stiff and ensconced in an invisible quagmire. And even though he knew this was a dreamscape, he was finding it more and more difficult to breathe.

Zachariah's chuckles finally died down. "Anyway, let's get back to business. You're gonna tell me where you are—"

"No."

The angel blinked. "Excuse me?"

Dean swallowed back the bile gathering in his throat, and lifted his chin. "No, I'm not saying yes."

Zachariah let out an exaggerated groan. "Come on! What's the matter with you? Castiel seemed to think you were going to—"

"I know what Cas thought," Dean interrupted, and a small piece inside him shriveled and died, knowing what his actions had cost. He'd been selfish, and stupid, only thinking about one thing and not giving a rat's ass to how it would affect anyone else. He'd thrown hurtful words at Sam, twisting the metaphorical knife. And he'd literally thrown Cas out of the panic room, out of Bobby's house, hell, off the damn planet. And there was no 'metaphorical' with Zach's torture methods.

This was so much worse than him saying yes to Michael.

Zachariah was frowning at him. "Let me guess," he sighed. "Little brother gave you some heartfelt spiel about sticking it to the angels, and you're back to letting the world be destroyed just to make him happy."

Dean gritted his teeth. "You son-of-a-bitch." That wasn't how it was _at all_.

Zachariah ignored him, turning away and throwing his arms up at the heavens. "Why do I bother? Shoulda just stuck with Plan B."

"You stay the hell away from Adam," Dean snarled, taking an angry step forward.

Zachariah whirled on him. "Then say the magic word, Dean."

His jaw clenched.

"No? Fine. I'm not out of the game yet." With that, the angel vanished.

Dean spun around, on alert for an attack, for the vista to change. Nothing happened. He tried to force himself to wake up, but the air suddenly felt heavy, dragging him deeper into sleep. Dean fought it. He needed to wake up, to do something…but blackness closed in on him and he was swept away.

When he did finally wake, groggy and feeling hungover, it was to raised voices filtering down from upstairs. Dean hauled himself off the cot, groaning as his head swam and every joint protested. What the hell did he have to drink last night? Wait, no, he hadn't been drinking. He'd almost said yes. And then he'd been dreaming…

Dean bolted for the stairs, taking two at a time as he barreled his way into the den where Sam and Bobby appeared to be fighting.

"What do you mean, 'Adam is gone'?" Sam demanded.

Bobby scowled. "Should I say it in Spanish?"

"He's gone how? What the hell, Bobby!"

"Watch your tone, boy. He was right in front of me, and he disappeared into thin air."

"It was angels," Dean said, coming into view.

Both looked up at him in surprise.

"Yeah, but how?" Sam asked.

"Probably did the dream thing," he replied, throat constricting at the memory and Zachariah's bombshell. "Zach paid me a visit. Guess after I told him to shove it, he hopped over to Adam."

"Dammit," Sam swore. "How are we supposed to find them?"

"Too bad someone went and blew our friendly neighborhood angel back to Oz," Bobby griped, tossing a dark glower at Dean. "The idjit probably went off to pout in Antarctica."

Every muscle in Dean's body went rigid with the image of Cas being strapped down on a rack and tortured. Zach said he was making Cas relive Dean's time in Hell, but did that mean just watching some dreamlike memory, or…something else?

"Dean? Dean!" Sam was suddenly in front of him, gripping his arms and trying to shake him out of his daze. Worried eyes searched his. "What is it? What else did Zachariah say?"

Dean swallowed around the spiky lump trying to choke him. "He…he has Cas."

Sam furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"I screwed up bad, Sammy. Really bad." Dean shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut against hot moisture swelling there. "I sent Cas back to Heaven, and didn't even _think_ …"

Sam sucked in a sharp gasp. "The banishing sigil…Cas was blown right into the middle of enemy HQ."

"Balls," Bobby uttered under his breath.

"Zach caught him," Dean continued. "Bastard laughed because I didn't even realize it at first. He…I think he's being tortured."

Sam took a step back, expression slack with horror.

"So," Bobby said after a long moment. "We're basically up shit creek."

Dean closed his eyes again, the sheer amount of guilt threatening to suffocate him. Cas was gone. Adam was gone. And it was all Dean's fault.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Time for things to get worse...**

 **More lines from the episode that aren't mine.**

* * *

Chapter 3

Castiel knew the apparition currently slicing into his torso was not Dean Winchester. At least, not _now_ Dean Winchester. Yes, Dean had tortured souls in Hell; it's what had made him the Righteous Man to begin with. When Castiel's garrison had laid siege to Hell, fought through cohorts of demons, Castiel had seen first-hand the atrocities Dean committed in the Pit. It hadn't fazed the angel then. He was full of divine purpose, believed in the destiny that Dean Winchester, the man who had broken the First Seal, would also be the one to stop the Apocalypse. Those souls Dean had cut into…they'd been collateral damage. Just like Alastair, when Castiel and Uriel had asked Dean to use his 'special skill set' to interrogate the demon. Dean hadn't wanted to, but he'd done it anyway. He didn't _enjoy_ torturing.

So, this was and was not Dean Winchester, looming over his victim with cold, dead eyes. Part of Castiel could realize that Dean would never take pleasure in these acts, would never commit them against those he called 'friend.' And yet, at the same time, with every physical slice and burn, Castiel kept remembering that single moment when Dean had activated that sigil. That had been on purpose, the pain caused intentional. And so, in between bursts of torment, Castiel began to wonder whether he was 'collateral damage,' or whether he'd never fallen into the 'friend' category to begin with.

The scenery of Hell's torture chamber wavered and bled away, and Castiel sucked in a sharp gasp as he once again found himself in Heaven's cell, the orb of auras dimming into a dull sphere. Zachariah was there, along with two other angels.

"This is the night, Castiel!" Zachariah exclaimed. With a snap of his fingers, the metal restraints around Castiel's wrists and ankles unlatched with a clink.

Castiel was too dazed and woozy from the orb's influence to even think about putting up a fight, and the two lackeys grabbed his arms to haul him up.

"The tumblers finally click into place, and we get a front-row seat." Zachariah gestured to the angels, and before Castiel could ask what was happening, he was wrenched into flight, only to be slammed down an instant later in the angels' green room stationed on earth. There was a table set with beer and a dozen burgers piled high on a plate. To Castiel's dismay, Adam Milligan sat at the head of the table, currently chowing down. The kid jolted in surprise at the angels' arrival.

"I see you and your brother share the same refined palate," Zachariah said from where he'd landed, casually leaning against the edge of the table.

Adam quickly raised a fist to his mouth to cover a small belch. Frowning, he looked past Zachariah at Castiel. "Uh, what's he doing here?"

Castiel was wondering the same thing. Michael could just as easily kill him in Heaven as on earth; he didn't need a vessel to do it.

"Don't mind him," Zachariah replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I just need something to pass the time while we wait for Dean."

Castiel did not like the sound of that, and he was unceremoniously shoved toward the wall where a set of chains had been installed in place of the painting that used to hang there. Zachariah's two underlings forced Castiel's arms up, snapping the shackles around his wrists. Once done, they disappeared in a wave of wingbeats.

Adam set his burger down, half-watching Castiel nervously, half-focusing on Zachariah. "What do you mean 'wait for Dean'? I'm here and I'm ready for Michael."

"Oh. Right. About that… Look, this is never easy, but I'm afraid…we've had to terminate your position at this time."

Adam stared dubiously. "Excuse me?"

Castiel's brow furrowed as he watched the exchange. Michael wasn't planning on using Adam as a vessel? But then why go to the trouble of resurrecting him?

"Hey, don't get me wrong," Zachariah barreled on. "You've been a hell of a sport, really." The angel gave Adam the 'A-OK' gesture. "Good stuff. But the thing is, you're not so much the 'chosen one' as you are…" Zachariah paused as though searching for the right words. "A clammy scrap of bait."

Castiel briefly closed his eyes. Of course. How could he have been so foolish as to fall for the farce of using Adam instead of Dean? It was always supposed to be Dean. Not that this realization changed anything; Dean had been planning to say yes. And for whatever reason the eldest Winchester wasn't here at the moment, it didn't change the fact that Dean would eventually become the Michael Sword.

Adam shook his head in adamant denial. "But what about the stuff that you said? I'm supposed to fight the devil."

Zachariah nodded in mock sympathy. "Mhm, not so much." Then he broke into a wide grin. "Hey, if it's any consolation, you happen to be the illegitimate half-brother of the guy we do care about. That's not bad, is it?"

Adam just continued staring. "So you lied. About everything." He looked away, shaking his head in disbelief.

"We didn't lie. We just avoided certain truths to manipulate you."

The angels' trademark, Castiel thought dejectedly.

"You son-of-a-bitch," Adam breathed.

"Hey, how do you think I feel? I'm the one that's got to put up with that dumb, slack-jawed look on your face."

Adam lifted his chin to glare at the seraph.

"Kid, we didn't have a choice," Zachariah said, as though that justified everything. "The Winchesters got one blind spot, and it's family. See, Sam and Dean, they're gonna put aside their differences and they're gonna come get you, and that is gonna put Dean right…here." Zachariah tapped the top of the table. "Right where I need him."

With a delighted grin, Zachariah pushed himself up and turned to beam at Castiel. "We did it. No thanks to you, but who's keeping score?"

Castiel lowered his gaze. He expected Zachariah to gloat over him, but it didn't pain him any less. Or any more than what he suspected was coming.

Adam surged to his feet. "Yeah, I'm not gonna let you do this."

Zachariah gestured for him to chill. "Cool your jets, corky. Sit down. We're doing it together."

Adam slowly sank back into the chair, shoulders taut.

"Plus, you still get your severance," Zachariah continued placatingly. "You still get to see your mom, okay?"

Adam shook his head. "Why should I believe you?"

Zachariah was silent for a beat, a moment of contemplation that Castiel instantly recognized as a warning sign.

"You know what?" the seraph said. "I keep hearing this." He flapped his hand in a talking motion. "But what I want to be hearing is this." Zachariah pointed his closed hand toward Adam, who suddenly fell forward across the table to retch up mouthful after mouthful of blood.

"Yeah. That's better."

Castiel tugged against his bonds. "Zachariah, leave him alone."

The superior angel whirled on him. "I'm getting a little tired of you not learning your place, Castiel."

His pulse leaped as Zachariah suddenly came forward, hands reaching for his torso. But instead of a blow, Zachariah began pawing through Castiel's coat, until he triumphantly pulled out a cell phone.

"One last breadcrumb to lay, and then we can sit back and watch the magic happen."

Castiel struggled more fervently, rattling the chains, but it did no good, and he was forced to watch Zachariah type out a message on his phone, presumably to send to Dean.

Zachariah flipped the phone closed and tossed it on the table. "Now, it'll take the Winchesters some time to get here, so in the meantime, I thought we'd try out some sigil work I find just _fascinating_. You like playing with sigils, don't you, Castiel?" He reached out again and this time began undoing the buttons of Castiel's shirt.

Castiel's heart thudded erratically behind his ribcage. He squirmed under the close proximity, flinching when Zachariah yanked fabric aside to expose his vessel's chest. Then the seraph lifted a hand, producing an angel blade with a mere eye blink. Zachariah twirled it in his hand a few times as he studied Castiel's bare torso, as though it were a canvas awaiting an artist's medium.

"Dean's work was somethin' else," Zachariah said conversationally, and angled the tip of the blade to poke just under Castiel's collarbone. Castiel sucked in a sharp breath when it broke skin and grazed his grace.

"But he lacked a certain…ingenuity." Zachariah began dragging the tip of the blade down, then curving back up again.

Castiel clenched his jaw as long as he could before a pained grunt punched past his lips. Zachariah made another turn, carving out a shape Castiel couldn't see. But when the line connected in a complete sigil, Castiel felt something deep within his true self crack and fracture. Part of his grace lit up like fire, searing through the bleeding cuts with the fury of an inferno. He screamed under the agony of it, and then sagged as a piece of his grace began to dribble away like fizzled out embers. It left Castiel panting in mind-numbing shock, unable to fully process what had just happened.

Zachariah's eyes gleamed with the last vestiges of reflected grace, and he set the angel blade down toward Castiel's third rib. "You wanted to fall, Castiel? Let's make it official. Piece by piece."

He inserted the blade between muscle and tissue, slowly tracing out another rune through flesh and blood and grace. When the lines connected and exploded with channeled power, Castiel threw his head back and screamed again.

* * *

Dean's phone buzzed with a message, and when he glanced at the sender's ID, his breath caught in his throat. _Cas_. Could it be…? He quickly opened the text and stared at it for several long moments, hope and despair warring against each other.

 _"Adam's being held in the green room."_ Then there was an address for Van Nuys, California. The clipped, succinct verbiage certainly sounded like Cas, but what were the odds he'd escaped Heaven? And if he had, that would be his first message to Dean? A text rather than a phone call? No, more likely it was the convenient clue to lead them into the trap.

"Dean?" Sam's soft query broke through his thoughts.

He wordlessly passed his phone over so Sam could read the message.

Sam also took several moments, lips thinning as he re-read it again and again. "This is sounding more and more like the angels are just using Adam as bait."

"Probably their plan all along," Dean muttered. And it had almost worked like a charm. Still could.

Sam chewed at his bottom lip. "Dean…"

He snatched his phone back, then the keys to the Impala off the table. "Grab the gear, Sam."

"And where do you think you're going, boy?" Bobby growled, wheeling his way out from behind the desk.

"To get Adam and Cas."

"Really? 'Cause that sounds like another way of saying you're gonna go sign up to be an angel's prom dress."

Dean hesitated for a split second. Would he do it, if that's what it took? What other way was there? Dean didn't know Adam from Jack, but Cas…Cas was in this mess because of Dean.

"I can't just abandon them."

Bobby shook his head. "Look, Dean, there's nothin' you can realistically do for either of them. California is at least a two-day's drive—"

"Not if we drive straight through," he countered. Without stopping, taking shifts, and ignoring every speed limit sign, he and Sam could probably cut twenty-three hours down to fifteen. It was still a long time for Adam and Cas, though.

"And then what's your big plan?" Bobby snapped. "Offer to trade yourself? Well that's just fine and dandy. You save two people and write off the rest of the world."

"They're not just 'two people,'" Sam spoke up softly. "They're family."

Bobby sighed. "Look, Adam may be blood, but it's not like you ever knew him. And Cas is—"

"Don't," Dean interrupted harshly. "Don't say Cas is just an angel, or…or a goddamn _hammer_. Family don't end in blood, remember? And Cas…Cas has bled for us." Rebelling against Heaven, getting killed once already. Taking them back in time at what turned out to be pretty significant cost to himself. And how had Dean repaid him? By spitting on their friendship and sending Cas straight back to his brothers to be tortured and probably killed again.

Dean spread his arms helplessly. "Bobby, you're asking me to find a way to stop the freakin' Apocalypse. How am I supposed to do _that_ if I can't even find a way to save the few people I got left?" He looked at his brother. "Sam, I did this. I…I have to fix it."

Sam nodded in sad understanding, getting to his feet and turning to Bobby. "Dean's right, we have to do this."

Bobby crossed his arms. "Him going is a bad idea."

"Yeah, well, he's pretty much the only game in town," Sam replied ruefully.

Bobby just looked away. He knew when he was overruled and fighting a losing battle.

Dean left the room without so much as a goodbye, quickly gathered up whatever weapons they had, though only a couple angel blades stood any chance against what they were going up against, and then headed out to the car. Sam joined him soon after.

The first hour of the drive was fraught with tense silence. Dean could feel his brother's unease palpitating in the passenger seat, but he didn't say anything. Dean had no assurances this time. He'd promised Sam he wouldn't say yes, and he wanted to keep that promise. But he couldn't sacrifice Cas to do it, either. Or Adam. He smacked his palm against the steering wheel. "Dammit."

"Dean," Sam spoke gently, with a mixture of sympathy and wariness. "What is the plan?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know, Sammy."

"Are…are you thinking of saying yes?"

Was he thinking about it? Damn straight. But was it a viable option? That he wasn't so sure about. "I…I honestly don't know, Sam. When it comes down to it, I don't know what I'll say."

Sam was quiet for a long moment. "I do."

Dean shot his brother a sharp look, perplexed when he saw only calm confidence in Sam's expression.

"When push comes to shove, you'll make the right call," Sam continued, as though he truly _believed_ it. Dean wished he could have such faith.

His phone rang, and Dean instantly bristled in anticipation of another lecture from Bobby. But when he fumbled for his cell and caught a glimpse of the caller ID, his lungs seized. Dean punched the answer key and pressed the phone to his ear. "Cas?"

Sam straightened abruptly.

A grating chuckle crackled through the line. "Guess again," Zachariah said.

Dean's knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. Sam was shooting him an impatient look, so he hit the speaker button. "I figured that text wasn't from him," Dean replied, proud at how steady his voice sounded despite his roiling emotions.

"Maybe you're not as stupid as you look," Zach said. "Anyway, I'm just curious how far along you are. You know, so I can get the party favors ready for when you get here."

Dean gritted his teeth. "You couldn't have picked some place more central in the continental U.S.?"

"Hm, must be inconvenient without an angel to zap you around. Want to say hi, Castiel?" There was a pause in which Dean's heart rate ratcheted up. "I don't think he's feeling very talkative," Zachariah came back.

"You bastard, he has nothing to do with this," Dean snarled.

Zachariah snorted. "Of course not. Castiel is reaping the fruits of his own destruction. I frankly don't know why you care, Dean, considering he's here because of your carelessness."

Dean's throat constricted, and if he weren't focused on the road, he'd want to throw or break something. "Let me talk to him." He had to apologize, had to tell Cas to hold on, that they were coming for him.

"Mhm…I have a better idea," Zachariah replied with far too much glee. "How about I let you listen to his screams? Good road trip music, no?"

"You son-of-a-bitch…"

There was the sound of a sharp inhale, followed by the low groan of someone trying desperately to keep from crying out. Of course Cas wouldn't want to give Zachariah the satisfaction. Dean didn't know what exactly the asshole was doing, but a moment later Castiel did let out a horrendous, guttural scream that almost made Dean swerve off the road. Sam's face drained of color.

"I hope you get here soon, Dean," Zachariah's chipper voice spoke up once the scream died out. "This is a real masterpiece I think you'd appreciate."

Dean forced himself to breathe sharply through his nose. Zachariah had just made a fatal mistake. The douche angel had stooped to some severe lows trying to get Dean to say yes, but this, this had the exact opposite of his intended effect. Dean didn't know how he would pull it off, but there was no way in hell Zach was getting what he wanted now. However he needed to, Dean was taking that dickbag down. He pressed harder on the gas.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who's continuing to read and review! It really makes my day. ^_^**

* * *

Chapter 4

Castiel blinked groggily as a current of foreign grace trickled through his vessel, suffusing healing into the abused body and dragging him back to consciousness. Zachariah removed his hand from Castiel's forehead, mouth pursed in a disappointed moue.

"It's no fun if you keep passing out," the angel said.

Castiel's head hung heavily, chin down so that he could see the jagged, bloody lines carved into his borrowed flesh. No, not borrowed anymore. Jimmy's soul had left this body when Raphael had destroyed Castiel, and his inexplicable resurrection had not returned the poor man to his mortal shell. It'd become Castiel's more and more since he'd been cut off from Heaven. And with each sigil Zachariah cut into him, chiseling out the last of Castiel's grace chink by chink, he became more fully anchored to this vessel, his true form whittled down to raw, ragged fragments. Which meant he was now susceptible to things like blood loss.

Zachariah tutted in mock sympathy. "You're becoming more and more human with each step, Castiel. Not pleasant, is it? Being reduced to a pathetic, weak, maggot. That's what you rebelled for. And now you'll end up worm food, just like the rest of the hairless apes."

Castiel didn't respond, too focused on maintaining the shallow breaths his vessel seemed to require at the moment.

"You're a son-of-a-bitch, you know that?" a different voice spoke up. Adam. Castiel had forgotten the boy was still there. "I thought angels were supposed to watch over people? But you're just monsters."

Zachariah turned slowly to face the human, who was sitting against the wall. "I'm sorry, did the maggot have something to say?" He gestured sharply, and Adam lurched forward to retch up more blood. "Yeah," Zachariah said. "Didn't think so."

"He's right," Castiel managed to rasp. "We…we were supposed to protect humanity, not…not destroy them."

Zachariah rolled his eyes. "Hey, you win some, you lose some. You and the Winchesters are the ones sacrificing everyone by denying destiny. But that's about to end. Dean's on his way and if he was waffling about saying yes before, he won't be now. Not with one brother in my grasp and the other not far behind." Zachariah grinned and picked up his angel blade again. "Now, where were we?"

Castiel didn't have the strength to brace himself for the pain as Zachariah once again began carving a sigil into his skin. Another piece of his grace cracked and burst, like a tendon snapping in half. It hurt worse each time, and Castiel lost track of how many times Zachariah partially healed his vessel just so Castiel could be conscious for each and every piece of his essence the higher ranking angel chipped away.

It seemed to be an endless loop that repeated over and over again for an eternity before Castiel sluggishly roused to find Zachariah buttoning up his blood stained shirt.

"Dean should be getting close now," the seraph said conversationally. "So I've got to get things ready."

Castiel tipped his head back with a low moan. His chest felt as though it was on fire, while his core felt like solid ice, the warmth of his essence, his grace, completely gone. When Castiel instinctively stretched his senses to try and reach it, he found nothing but a frigid void. Zachariah hadn't left a single speck.

"Buck up, sport," the other angel continued, patting Castiel's shoulder. "You'll get to see Dean one last time. Well, as Michael, that is. Don't know if he'll want to snuff you out himself or make you watch the big prize fight, but that's above my pay grade."

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut against a swell of despair and devastation. Adam had it right; angels were not as they should be. Their capacity for cruelty equally matched the demons they stood in direct opposition against. In some ways they were worse.

Zachariah raised his hand to snap his fingers, and Castiel's world dissolved into darkness.

* * *

Dean pulled up along the outskirts of the abandoned muffler factory that apparently belonged to the address he'd been given. He and Sam had driven nonstop and arrived the following afternoon. Neither would be at the top of their game going in, having only caught snatches of sleep between driving shifts, emotions and nerves frayed. Dean knew he needed a clear head if he was going to get out of this…but who was he kidding? There was no clear head when it came to his family being threatened.

Sam gazed out the windshield. "The beautiful room's in there?" he asked dubiously.

"Guess so." Dean put the car in park and shut off the engine. "Ready?"

Sam withdrew an angel blade and nodded staunchly. "You?"

A muscle in Dean's jaw ticked. Hell yes he was ready. Ready to finally give that bastard Zachariah everything the dickbag had coming to him. "Yeah."

They both exited the car and cautiously approached the old, dilapidated building. Sam hung back, as per the plan. Zachariah thought he had the trap baited and set, and Dean planned to waltz right in, let the smarmy dick think he'd won before ripping it all out from under him.

But then, when did anything for the Winchesters ever go according to plan?

Dean slowly made his way through the empty factory toward a small office in the back. He paused with his hand on the knob, exchanged one last look with Sam, and then pushed the door open. He immediately found himself in the same beautiful room he'd been held in before, back when he thought his role as the 'Righteous Man' actually meant something good. But to his chagrin, the only person he spotted was Adam.

The kid was slumped on the floor against the back wall, chin stained red with blood. Son-of-a-bitch, Dean was going to make Zachariah _pay_. But where the hell was Cas? There weren't any other doors leading to additional rooms. Dammit, Dean needed to get them _both_ out, but he couldn't dawdle, and so would have to deal with Adam first.

"Adam, hey. Hey." Still on guard for an angel to leap out at him, Dean crossed the room. His heart stuttered at the sight of blood on the floor, and a set of empty chains hanging from the wall where he remembered an ornate painting had been before. Had that been where…? Dean wrenched his gaze away and hurried over to kneel beside Adam.

The kid jerked awake with a gasp, eyes wide and bewildered. "You came for me," he blurted.

Dean pulled one arm over his shoulder to haul him up. "Yeah, well, you're family."

"Dean," Adam grunted. "It's a trap."

"I figured," he responded, bracing Adam against him. They turned toward the exit, only to find Zachariah standing in their way.

"Dean, please," the smarmy angel grinned. "Did you really think it would be that easy?"

Dean stared back at him, cold and unwavering. "Did you?"

Sam swept inside, angel blade raised. Yet an instant before he could drive it into Zachariah's back, the angel spun, blocked the blow, and swung Sam's arm down to knock against the table. The angel blade clattered to the floor. With a flick of his hand, Zachariah then sent Sam flying backward into a lattice screen where he crumpled to the floor.

"Sam!" Dammit, that had been their one shot at the element of surprise. Dean thought about lunging for the angel blade himself, but he was still supporting Adam.

Zachariah turned back to face them. "You know what I've learned from this experience, Dean?" He paused for a beat. "Patience." Without breaking eye contact with him, Zachariah waved his hand toward Adam, who suddenly doubled over as fresh blood started gushing from his mouth. Dean tried to brace him, but the kid dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach in abject pain.

"Adam?" Dean whirled back toward Zachariah. "Let him go, you son-of-a-bitch."

"I mean, I thought I was downsized for sure," the angel said, ignoring him. "And for us, a firing…pretty damn literal." He chuckled and leaned back to recline against the table. "But I should have trusted the boss man. It's all playing out like he said… You, me, your hemorrhaging brothers." He turned his fist back toward Sam, who curled in on himself and started coughing up blood.

Dean's jaw clenched. This was not how he wanted it to go.

"You're finally ready, right?" Zachariah asked, standing up again and boring his eyes into Dean.

His heart hammered in his rib cage as he glanced back and forth between his two brothers. Dean couldn't let them down. Didn't want to let them down. There was still a way out of this…and he was gonna take it.

"You know there's no other choice," Zachariah pressed earnestly. "There's never been a choice."

"Stop it," he whispered, then stronger, "Stop it right now!"

Zachariah paused. "In exchange for what?" he asked expectantly.

Dean shook his head, voice strained with emotion. "Dammit, Zachariah. Stop it, please." His jaw quivered. "I'll do it," he muttered. His gaze met Sam's, who was gaping at him in stunned disbelief. Dean wished he could tell his little brother everything would be okay.

Zachariah lifted a hand to his ear. "I'm sorry. What was that?"

Dean's throat constricted. He could do this, had to… "Okay, yes. The answer is yes."

Sam's expression went slack with horror. " _Dean_."

Dean ignored him, couldn't be distracted by the disappointment in his eyes. "Do you hear me?" he continued. "Call Michael down, you bastard!" Dean glanced at Adam, whose gaze was pleading more than anything else as he choked on his own blood. _Just hang on_ , Dean silently urged.

Zachariah still seemed skeptical. "How do I know you're not lying?"

"Do I look like I'm lying?" Dean snapped. He met the angel's stare head-on. This was it, his last card to play. Time to make it count.

Zachariah blinked back what looked like close to ecstatic tears as he turned and began speaking something in Enochian, probably to summon the archangel. Though the words were gibberish, the low, guttural tone sounded like a death chant right before a human sacrifice. Dean's gaze drifted to Sam's then, his little brother writhing in pain. Yet despite that, Sam's expression held only confusion. He still believed Dean wouldn't do this, wouldn't say yes, despite all obvious evidence to the contrary. Dean found himself momentarily in awe of his brother's faith. And it gave him the strength he needed to stand firm.

The room started to vibrate.

"He's coming," Zachariah said.

Sam stared at Dean in question…and Dean winked, finally allowing his facade to crack. Zachariah thought he'd won; he was in for a rude awakening.

Dean flicked his attention back to the angel, demeanor staunch and resolute like he'd flipped a switch. "Of course, I have a few conditions."

Zachariah turned back around, for the first time looking taken aback. "What?"

"The few people whose safety you have to guarantee before I say yes."

The angel shrugged. "Sure, fine. Make a list."

"Sam and Adam get to walk out of here—with Cas."

Zachariah blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Dean said. "I want Cas. Now."

Zachariah didn't respond for a prolonged beat, but then his lips twitched. "Fine. I was done with him anyway." The angel snapped his fingers, and there was a puff of air as Castiel appeared, only to immediately collapse face first in a heap.

"Cas!" It took every ounce of Dean's strength not to rush to the angel.

Sam, however, crawled the few feet across the floor to reach Castiel and turn him over. His clothes were oddly intact, given the length of torture Dean had imagined based on the phone call. But then he noticed the blood seeping through the dress shirt. Dean's hands furled into fists.

"There, now everybody wins," Zachariah said.

Sam shot his brother a look bordering on panic, and it broke Dean's heart to see a flicker of doubt.

"I'm not finished," he said, voice low and dangerous. "Most of all…Michael can't have me until he _disintegrates_ you."

Zachariah quirked a bemused look. "What did you say?"

"I said…" Dean took a step closer. "Before Michael gets one piece of this sweet ass…he has to turn you into a piece of charcoal."

Zachariah let out a disbelieving laugh. "You really think Michael's gonna go for that?"

"Who's more important to him now? You…" Dean cocked his head. "Or me?"

Zachariah surged forward and grabbed a fistful of Dean's shirt. "You listen to me. You are nothing but a maggot inside a worm's ass. Do you know who I am?" He gave Dean a rough shake, but the hunter didn't even flinch. "After I deliver you to Michael?"

"Expendable," Dean spat.

Zachariah snorted. "Michael's not gonna kill me."

"Maybe not." But then, that'd been Dean's hope from the beginning. He slipped out his angel blade, ready to savor this moment. "But I am."

He rammed the blade up through Zachariah's chin into his skull. The angel's mouth flew wide with a startled gasp as light started bursting out of it and his eye sockets. His garbled cry and swelling nova added to the vibrations already shaking the room, and then he exploded, throwing Dean back against the wall. The room kept shuddering violently, even though Zachariah's body now lay sprawled out, arching, blackened wing prints seared across the wall and floor.

An ear-piercing noise descended from above, along with growing white light. Okay, maybe Dean hadn't thought that one _quite_ all the way through. Story of his life.

Dean scrambled to Adam and pulled him up. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, come on." Dean ran to Sam and Cas next. Sam coughed as he attempted to haul Castiel off the floor. The angel was completely out, leaving him a dead weight in Sam's arms. Dean ducked in to help. They dragged Cas to the door, and Dean tossed a frantic look over his shoulder at Adam, who was gaping at the glowing ceiling. "Come on, move it!"

They stumbled outside, Dean struggling to keep both Cas and Sam upright. He didn't hear the door slam behind them over the increasing jet engine, but then Adam's shouts broke through.

"Help! It won't open!"

Dean let go of Cas, the unconscious angel and Sam basically falling to the ground together, and turned back. Light was blazing through the cracks in the shanty, and when Dean grabbed the doorknob, it seared his skin. He jerked his hand away, staring helplessly as Adam kept yelling for help. For Dean.

He tried pushing against the door again, but it sizzled upon contact. "Hold on, we'll get you out! Just hold on!"

Adam had stopped shouting.

"Adam! Can you hear me?"

The light slowly began to fade, fizzling out until the warehouse grew dark, still, and silent. Dean approached the door again, rapidly tapping the knob to see if it still burned. "Adam?" He burst inside, only to find a ransacked, abandoned office. Adam was gone.

Dean simply stared. Had the kid been vaporized, or…had Michael settled on second fiddle after all? Either way, Dean had failed to save him. He looked over his shoulder at Sam and Cas. Sam was half-sprawled on the ground, one arm still clutching his stomach while the other supported Cas's head. Two out of three, Dean thought bitterly. Was that what this whole fight would be? Who else would he have to lose before it was over?

"Dean," Sam gasped, pushing himself up straighter with a grimace. There was an urgency in his gaze, and Dean had to acknowledge that they needed to get out of there before the angels came back. Before Michael…

Dean swallowed hard as he reluctantly turned his back on the office. It felt like turning his back on Adam. But the kid was beyond help now, and Dean still had two others to look after.

He helped Sam get his feet again, then the two of them hauled Cas up. Dean hated how hurt the angel looked, and wished he could kill Zachariah all over again. But Cas was alive and back with them, and that was something. The angel would recover.

They staggered outside to the Impala where they deposited Cas in the backseat before the brothers slid into the front. Dean started the engine and gunned it out of there.

* * *

 **A/N: I know some of you were hoping Zach would suffer a lot more before he died, but I feel like the canon version was quite powerful.  
Okay, here's the plan: Wednesday I'm posting another 11x18 tag, but it's a lengthy two-shot. So I'll post its second half on Friday instead of this story, which means the next chapter for this will post next Monday. It's not the worst cliffhanger I could leave you with for a week, though Dean is wrong that Cas is gonna be okay... ;)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Now back to this story! I'll try not to have more interruptions with season 11 one-shots. At least until episodes start airing again. ;)  
Thanks to 29Pieces for her medical expertise in this chapter. Though, we both agreed I could fudge some of it given the show writers do it all the time. ;)**

* * *

Chapter 5

The orange glow of street lights pulsed and ebbed through the windows as the Impala roared down the highway. It'd taken some creative driving and route taking to make it out of the Los Angeles area, and Dean was happy to have nothing but open road ahead of them as they set a course back to Bobby's.

None of them had spoken since escaping the factory, Dean trapped in his own morose thoughts, Sam slowly recovering from internal hemorrhaging, and Cas…Mr. Comatose again. But the three of them were safe and together, so there was some consolation in that.

Sam shifted in the passenger seat; he'd been hunched against the door for the past couple of hours. "You think Adam's okay?" he asked softly.

Dean swallowed hard. "Doubt it." But Zachariah was dead, and that was another victory Dean had to hold onto.

"So…"

Dean flicked a glance at him. "'So' what?"

"I…you were playing that whole time, weren't you?" Sam fidgeted again. "When you told Zachariah you'd say yes."

"Yeah, I'm, uh, sorry about that. I had to sell it."

Sam stared at his lap. "I…I think I bought it there for a second."

Dean didn't know whether to be glad he was that convincing—since it'd led to their escape—or ashamed that he'd almost shattered his brother's faith. "I didn't want to let you down."

"You didn't," Sam quietly assured him.

And how was it that this kid always managed to take care of Dean when it was supposed to be the other way around?

"I owe you an apology," he said.

Sam shook his head. "No, man. No, you don't."

"Just…let me say this," Dean pressed.

Sam let out an exasperated breath.

"I don't know if it's being a big brother or what, but to me, you've always been this snot-nosed kid that I've had to keep on the straight and narrow. I think we both know that's not you anymore." Dean fell silent for a contemplative moment. "I mean, hell, if you're grown-up enough to find faith in me…the least I can do is return the favor."

Sam didn't say anything, the steady thrum of the engine filling the cab.

Dean stared at the dark horizon, sunrise a long way's off, but coming nonetheless. "So screw destiny," he continued. "Right in the face. I say we take the fight to them, and do it our way."

Sam's mouth tugged upward, and he nodded. "Sounds good." He craned his neck then to look back at Cas. The angel had been out for a while after recovering from time travel, so Dean wasn't expecting him to pop up all that soon. Sam stared for several long moments before twisting around and reaching an arm over the bench seat. "Dean, stop the car."

"What, why?" He threw a look over his shoulder, but couldn't see into the darkened backseat enough to know why Sam suddenly sounded alarmed.

"Just pull over!"

He cranked the wheel sharply, jerking them both before reason returned and Dean brought the Impala to a guided yet abrupt stop on the shoulder. Sam was out of the car in a flash and opening the back passenger side door. Dean twisted around, irritated that he still couldn't see much. Cas was a dark, unmoving lump in the back.

Sam crouched down behind the angel's head and placed two fingers to the side of Cas's neck, just under the jaw line. "Shit, his pulse is thready." Sam touched Cas's cheek, then one of his hands. "I think he's going into shock."

"What?" Dean found himself saying stupidly. But Cas was an angel.

Sam reached over and lifted the collar of Cas's bloodied shirt to look underneath. "Oh my god. Dean, I don't think he's healing at all." Sam tugged at the sticky shirt a bit more. "Dammit, he's still bleeding!"

Dean stiffened. "How could he _not_ be healing?" What had that bastard Zachariah done to him?

"I don't know." Sam ducked out long enough to slam the front door closed before he squeezed into the backseat, lifting Cas's head and shoulders to slide in beside him.

"Then what the hell is wrong with him?" Dean demanded.

"I don't _know_!" Sam shouted back. "Just drive, Dean!"

He snapped back around to face forward again, his hunter training finally kicking in. They needed to get somewhere safe, get the first aid kit. "There was a motel two exits back."

Dean threw the Impala back in gear and punched the gas pedal. With a screech of tires, the car pulled a sharp one-eighty. Dean kept glancing in the rearview mirror at his brother's worried face as Sam kept one hand at the pulse point in Cas's jaw the entire time. What the hell were they dealing with here?

The motel Dean had seen a sign for was close, and he careened into the gravel lot not a minute later. Sam stayed with Cas while Dean sprinted into the front office to rent a room. Luckily, two of the outer lights had burned out bulbs, leaving enough cover for the boys to carry Cas from the car to the room. Dean wished he'd paid more attention to the angel when they'd first escaped. Granted, they'd been in a hurry to get away from the muffler factory, and Dean had just assumed Cas would heal up, albeit slowly. He was rueing that decision now.

Cas was sickly pale as they laid him out on the bed. Sam immediately set to cutting off the dress shirt, and when the blood stained fabric peeled away, both brothers sucked in sharp gasps at what they saw. Zachariah hadn't just gone at Cas with a blade; he'd carved friggin' _sigils_ into Cas's chest.

"Oh god," Sam nearly choked, reaching up to cover his mouth with a fist.

Dean's eyes swept over the jagged lines, taking in each one in all its gory detail. This was his fault. If he hadn't stupidly banished Cas like that…

"You think that's why he's not healing?" Dean managed to ground out.

"I don't know," Sam replied. "But we gotta do something."

He started tugging the trench coat and suit jacket off. Dean shook himself out of his stupor and moved to help. The jostling finally elicited a reaction from Cas, who let out a low, anguished moan. His eyelids fluttered open, pupils cloudy and unfocused.

"Cas? Hey, man, you're okay." Dean tried to give the angel's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Cas stared at him in a moment of confusion, and then squeezed his eyes shut as he croaked, "Michael."

Dean went rigid. Of course, last Cas knew, Dean was planning to say yes. Had carelessly banished the angel back to Heaven because he had every intention of going to Michael and needed Cas out of the way.

"No, Cas," he said around a constricting throat. "It's me."

"Please, brother," Cas rasped, apparently not hearing him. "No more."

Bile churned in Dean's stomach, and he reached out to cup Castiel's head. "Cas, it's me," he insisted. "I didn't say yes."

But Cas's gaze was foggy with delirium, and he tried to wrench away from Dean's touch. "Just end it. Please just end it." _End me_.

Dean reeled back as though he'd been gutted. Cas didn't recognize him. More than that, the angel was begging for death. Whatever Zachariah had done had broken Castiel. Dean's stupid, reckless actions had led to this, to his best friend lying in agony after having been brutally tortured.

He spun around and barreled into the bathroom in time to dump all the contents of his stomach down the toilet.

* * *

Sam listened to the sounds of his brother's retching through the bathroom door, his own stomach cramping with shared horror. Cas's pleas were gut-wrenching, and the fact that he thought Dean was Michael, there to torture him more… Sam didn't blame Dean for losing it. But Cas was in bad shape and needed help, so Sam had to shove down his own fear and nausea and act quickly.

He knelt beside the bed so he and Cas were at eye level. "Cas, hey, it's Sam. Can you hear me?" He was hesitant to touch the angel, given his confused state.

Castiel blinked rapidly at him. "Sam?"

He nearly sagged in relief. "Yeah, it's me."

Cas's eyes widened and he started to thrash on the bed. "No. You have to go, Sam. If Michael finds you…" He twisted the wrong way, pulling at his wounds and triggering a spasm that tore a cry from his throat and left him wheezing for breath.

Sam ignored his initial caution and grabbed Cas by the shoulders to keep him from injuring himself further. He also hoped Dean hadn't heard that. "Cas, you're safe, I promise. We're safe. Don't move, okay?"

Dammit, he could really use Dean's help. But that simple movement seemed to have drained whatever surge of adrenaline Castiel had mustered, and the angel was sinking more heavily into the mattress. His breathing hitched in a horrible rattling sound that spurred Sam's panic.

He surged off the floor and toward the bathroom. "Dean?" he called. "Look, man…we need major supplies." Sam wanted to be sympathetic to what his brother was going through, but at the same time knew Dean would feel better if he had a plan of action to focus on. "I'll stay with Cas and start patching him up, but he's lost a lot of blood and we're gonna need a rehydration set-up."

There was a prolonged moment in which Sam thought he might have to bust in there, but the door finally opened and Dean stepped out, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. His gaze automatically flicked to Cas before wrenching away again.

"Pain meds?" Dean asked, voice hoarse.

"Probably a good idea." Sam knew chemical agents didn't really have the same effect on an angel—case in point, Cas drinking an entire liquor store to get smashed—but the normal angel rules didn't seem to be applying at the moment. Sam could only hope Cas's healing was just delayed, given the severity of what he'd been through. But those sigils…the Winchesters had to prepare for the worst.

"Just…" Sam hesitated. "Hurry, Dean."

His brother pushed past him without further prompting, snatching up the car keys and storming out of the room. Sam turned back to Cas, who once again seemed unconscious, his entire body trembling in short, jerky motions. They were racing the clock here.

Sam grabbed their bag of first aid supplies and dropped it into a chair for easier access. He pulled out rolls of gauze and the stitching kit, then retrieved some towels from the bathroom and filled a bowl with water from the sink. As Sam wiped away the excess blood, he had to fight against his gorge rising at the sight of just how numerous the wounds were. He paused in his work, and quickly pulled out his phone to snap some pictures. That made him feel even more disgusted, but they needed to know what these sigils were, and if there was anything to be done to break their influence. Sam sent the photos to Bobby with a quick update, and then resumed tending Cas's wounds.

Dean returned sooner than expected, which Sam would take as a small blessing they desperately needed. Upon hearing the Impala's engine, Sam got up and went to open the door. Dean's arms were full of paper bags as he shuffled inside. He glanced at Cas again, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

"I, uh, didn't know Cas's—er, Jimmy's blood type, but I grabbed some O negative. I mean, it can't hurt, right?"

Sam nodded earnestly. "No, that's good, Dean." Really good, because Sam didn't want to admit he was actually afraid of Cas dying at this point. He unpacked the saline bag and IV drip first, hurrying back to Cas to set it up. Dean brought over a second line with the bag of blood, though approached cautiously.

Sam grimaced. "He's out."

Dean's throat bobbed, but he set to work inserting the second line into Cas's other arm. His eyes kept drifting to the sigils carved into Cas's chest, the edges of flesh jagged and inflamed. "I wish I could kill that bastard all over again," he muttered.

Yeah, Sam wouldn't have minded getting his own shot at Zachariah. "Help me stitch?"

Dean hesitated. "If he wakes up…"

Sam gave his brother a sympathetic look. "Then I'll take over. But, Dean, there's…" _A lot_. It would take them at least an hour working on it together.

Fear flashed through Dean's eyes. "Should he be at a hospital? I mean, they take one look at those and the cops are gonna get called, but…"

Honestly, Sam didn't know. Cas was currently shocky and dehydrated, but he was still an angel. What if he did start miraculously healing in the middle of an emergency room? _What if he didn't and was actually dying?_

"Let's start with this," Sam said. He picked up a needle and thread and set to work. Dean took a seat across from him a few minutes later, and together they methodically worked their way down Cas's chest, taking their time to neatly sew tattered flesh back together. It was long, arduous work, and Sam's back and shoulders started aching after a while, but he only allowed himself a few short breaks here and there to stretch.

The Winchesters had no idea how much pain Cas was in, but they administered some morphine Dean had swiped from the hospital, just in case. When at last all the stitching and bandaging was done, they stepped back to gaze down at their friend. Cas looked half-mummified, though not as pasty white as before. Sam moved back in to check his pulse. It was slow, but more steady. That probably had to do with the two IV lines rather than any mojo finally working its magic.

"He's never gonna forgive me for this," Dean said in a low voice.

Sam didn't know what to say. This…this was bad, no argument there. Sam was still having a hard time processing it himself, that Dean had been so thoughtless as to use a banishing sigil on Cas like that. But Sam had been preoccupied with stopping Dean from saying yes, then rushing halfway across the country to save Adam and Cas. They'd failed Adam, and now Cas…Sam didn't know what they'd do if they lost him, too.

"He shouldn't," Dean continued with a derisive snort. "He's got every right to hate me."

"Let's just…let's get him better first. Then deal with everything else."

Dean turned away, running his hands down his face. They were both exhausted from everything, and it would do them good to get some real sleep while they were here. Not that they could leave Cas unattended, and Sam didn't feel like sleeping anyway until he knew if their friend was even gonna be okay.

His phone rang, and Sam crossed the room to the table to answer it. "Bobby, hey."

"Sam," the older hunter said, the catch in his voice immediately putting Sam on guard. "I, uh, found the meaning of those sigils."

He glanced at Dean, who was watching with coiled muscles. Sam debated whether or not he should put the phone on speaker, but they both needed to know what Bobby had found…and Sam didn't want to have to repeat bad news if that's what it was. He punched the speaker button.

"That's great. What do the sigils mean?" he repeated for Dean's benefit. "Are they preventing Cas from healing?" Even if they were, how were the Winchesters supposed to counteract it when the marks were _engraved_ in Castiel's skin? Sam was so not willing to cut into the angel more in order to break them.

There was a moment of hesitation on the other end of the line, and Sam tensed.

"I found a few of them in an Enochian dictionary Cas has been compiling for me," Bobby began carefully. "Based on their meanings, when put together like that…"

"What, Bobby?" Dean demanded.

A sigh rattled through the speaker. "They're meant to methodically dismantle a being's essence. Piece by piece."

The brothers shared a nervous look. That sounded bad.

"Okay, so…" Sam began, not sure what he was trying to ask. "Cas's essence meaning…his grace?"

"Yeah," was Bobby's clipped reply.

Dean's expression slackened with horror, and both he and Sam turned their gazes to the unconscious angel on the bed.

Sam swallowed around a lump growing in his throat. "Is it reversible?"

"No," Bobby sighed. "And based on how many of those were carved into Cas…"

"What exactly are you saying, Bobby?" Dean growled.

"Look, you said he's not healing, that he's suffering from blood loss." Bobby paused. "Sounds like he's human."

"Human," Dean repeated, as though he couldn't quite believe it. Human, possibly dying, and no way to reverse it. Dean's pallor took on a green tinge, and Sam half-expected his brother to puke up his guts again.

Bobby cleared his throat after a prolonged moment of silence. "You boys heading back here?"

"Uh, yeah," Sam managed to answer. "I mean, when Cas is able to travel." _If_ …

"Alright. Just keep me in the loop."

"Okay. Thanks, Bobby." Sam disconnected, chest feeling hollow as he met Dean's gaze. What were they gonna do now?


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thank you to guests Lychee and Questeer for your reviews! Okay, this chapter is painful. Also, somehow all the issues from season 11 are manifesting in this fic.**

* * *

Chapter 6

Pain dragged Castiel into wakefulness. Searing, throbbing, fiery misery, and for a second he wondered if he was in Hell. No, not the brimstone one, he vaguely worked out—Heaven's version.

"Where's the morphine?" an incorporeal voice said above him.

"Here," another responded.

Castiel couldn't see, couldn't even fully care where he was or who was there. He just wanted to escape. But hands grabbed his shoulders and held him down, and fighting against them took more energy than he had, not to mention it made his chest explode with fire.

"Not that much, Dean!"

"Oh, right. I thought…"

Castiel moaned, a pitiful, un-angelic sound that made him want to crawl into a hole and die. What had he become? He was once a being of immense strength and power. Now…now he could barely move and everything hurt.

"Just a normal dose," the first voice said, soft and sad. Its tenor didn't quite fit the visage of chains and blood forming in Castiel's mind.

A second later, lightness flooded through his veins, sweeping away most of the pain's intensity. His limbs were still heavy, while his bones seemed to have turned completely hollow and floaty. More of Zachariah's partial healing, then, in preparation to resume his torture.

A gentle hand settled on his brow. "Cas, can you hear me?"

His forehead creased. That didn't sound like Zachariah. In fact… Castiel pried his eyelids open to find Sam Winchester leaning over him, face pinched in concern. The hunter managed a small smile.

"Hey, Cas. It's me, Sam. Do you know where you are?"

He frowned. "No."

Sam suddenly looked wary, and glanced up at something out of Castiel's range of vision. "Okay, well, you're in a motel and you're safe."

"Safe," he repeated dumbly, because that concept was an impossibility.

"Yeah," Sam affirmed, but his nervous glances at something else in the room belied that assertion. Castiel tried to extend his senses, but nothing happened. When he reached for his grace, all he found was…a cold, dead core. His breathing hitched from the shock of it.

"Cas, listen to me," Sam said urgently. "Dean and I came and got you. Zachariah's dead, and we escaped the beautiful room, the one in Van Nuys."

Castiel blinked rapidly, distracted by Sam's voice and trying to process what the young man was saying. But it was too wild to be true.

"Just breathe, man, take it easy," Sam was urging, and the fear in his voice gave Castiel something to focus on.

"Sam," he rasped, throat raw and parched. "Are you hurt?"

"What? No." Sam reached for a water bottle from the bedside table and uncapped it. Slipping one hand beneath Castiel's head, Sam gently lifted him as he tipped the bottle against his lips. The instant the liquid dribbled into his mouth, Castiel found himself gulping greedily. It couldn't have been just plain water, not with how it instantly soothed his throat and filled part of the empty feeling in his stomach.

"Easy, easy, you can't drink too much at once," Sam said, pulling the bottle away.

Castiel's head thunked back against a pillow. He felt as though salvation had just been ripped from him.

Sam leaned closer, once again settling a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "You still with me?"

He nodded slowly. "What happened?"

Sam hesitated. "We found out where Zachariah was holding you. Uh, you and Adam, because the angels managed to grab him. So Dean and I came to get you."

Castiel remembered Adam now. He was the bait. Castiel closed his eyes against a wave of grief. "Then it's over," he croaked. "Michael and Lucifer will soon confront each other."

"Uh, I don't know. If Michael got Adam to say yes, then maybe…"

Castiel frowned. "What?"

Sam gave him a sad smile. "Dean didn't say yes." He nodded toward the side of the room he'd been glancing at this entire time, and Castiel turned his head to follow the direction of Sam's gaze. There was Dean, standing in the corner and fidgeting nervously. Castiel's pulse spiked in fear at a glimpse of a memory, or was it a hallucination? Either way, he couldn't sense whether the essence standing before him was purely Dean, or Michael.

Dean cleared his throat, and looked as though he wanted to move closer, but held himself back. "Hey, Cas."

Castiel could only stare. It sounded like Dean. "I don't understand."

"I didn't say yes," Dean said emphatically, and now he did take a step closer, though warily, as though he was afraid to approach. "I didn't say yes to Michael," he repeated.

"But…how…?"

Dean slowly made his way to the side of the bed. "I let Zach think I was gonna say yes, and then I shoved an angel blade through his face."

Castiel blinked uncomprehendingly. "You…killed Zachariah?"

Dean's jaw tightened, and something dark and vengeful flashed in his eyes. "Yeah. That bastard will never touch you again."

Castiel glanced down at his bandaged torso. Though the pain was strangely muffled, he still felt the presence of the wounds, tight and stinging in places. The knowledge that his tormentor was dead…there was an odd sense of relief at that, if only because Zachariah wouldn't be returning to inflict more cruelty. But then, it wasn't as though the seraph hadn't already done his worst. Even with the bandages hiding the evidence, Castiel knew the marks engraved on his flesh were still there. And what they had wrought.

A spiky lump settled in his throat, and Castiel wished he could have more water. His grace, his essence, which had been the spark of his existence, a warm, infinite glow reflecting his father's love and might…was gone. Splintered and carved out. All that was left was a desolate, empty shell.

"Cas?" Dean called worriedly.

Castiel lifted his gaze to the Winchester's.

"God, Cas, I am so sorry." Dean's voice sounded strained with emotion, and his eyes glistened. "I didn't think… When I used that sigil, I never meant for this to happen."

The sigil. The banishing sigil. Castiel remembered now. It had faded in his memory, pushed back under the deluge of Zachariah's abuse and Castiel's fractured consciousness, but now it came back in full force. Dean had every intention of saying yes, and was so determined that he'd used the banishing sigil on Castiel to escape the panic room.

"You…didn't say yes," Castiel said around a cotton-filled mouth.

Dean shook his head, and quirked an almost relaxed smile. "No, man."

Castiel wet his cracked lips. He should have felt relieved, glad that Dean hadn't surrendered to the angels, but in actuality he felt… _anger_. "Then…it was a whim."

Dean frowned. "What?"

Castiel felt hot moisture pricking at the corners of his eyes, an increasing pressure on his chest. "I gave everything for you," he said through a clenched jaw. "And this is what you give to me."

"I know, Cas, I screwed up," Dean hurried to reply. "I acted stupidly and you didn't deserve it. I swear, I didn't know the angels would capture you. I just thought I could get you out of the way for a little bit."

So the consequences of his actions hadn't occurred to Dean at all. Castiel had been appraised and deemed expendable in a moment of brash decision. A decision Dean had later changed his mind on. While Castiel…would never be the same.

He tried to push himself up, only to grunt in pain as two pairs of needles in his arms pulled and his head swam.

"Whoa, man, take it easy," Dean chastised, reaching out to help settle him back down.

Castiel jerked away. "Don't touch me."

He could feel the stunned silence in the room, and wished he could flap his wings and just leave. But he had no wings anymore. He didn't know if they were broken, or burned off, but he couldn't feel them. He couldn't feel the chords of the universe or hear the song of the stars. All he could feel was his own physical pain and disillusionment.

"Cas…" Dean choked out, sounding truly remorseful. Castiel didn't care. He couldn't carry the weight of Dean's emotions on top of his own. He wished he couldn't feel anything at all.

Castiel closed his eyes and turned his head away. "Leave me alone."

"Dean," Sam said quietly, tone laced with heavy meaning.

Silence stretched for several more moments before Castiel heard the creak of the door and then it clicking shut. Someone huffed out a weary breath, letting Castiel know he still wasn't alone, and then there was the crinkle of cheap plastic. Castiel opened his eyes to find Sam sitting in a chair by his bed, uncapped water bottle in hand.

"Can you drink some more?" Sam asked gently.

Castiel wanted to refuse. He was an angel, and shouldn't need to drink. Except…he wasn't an angel anymore, and this confining, wretched shell was desperate for the water. Adding insult to injury, Castiel wasn't even capable of taking the bottle for himself, which agitated him even more.

But need won out, and he nodded, throat constricting to the point he thought he might choke when he tried to swallow the liquid. He did cough at first, but Sam cupped the back of his neck and helped angle him up enough to drink more easily.

When done, Castiel thought he should at least thank the young man, but the words couldn't seem to work past his clogged throat.

Sam took his time screwing the cap back on the bottle and fiddling with some things on the bedside table, then checking the two bags hanging on the bedposts that were delivering fluids through tubes into Castiel's vessel. All the while the hunter kept casting concerned looks at him. Castiel finally had to look away; he didn't want Sam's pity.

"Are you in pain? I might be able to give you a little more morphine," Sam spoke up.

Castiel shook his head. The pain wasn't that bad, but he would welcome it at this point. Anything to distract him from the roiling emotions he was currently drowning in.

"I know what Dean did was stupid, and thoughtless," Sam began.

"I rebelled for nothing," Castiel interrupted, and he couldn't help the scathing look he directed at the younger Winchester. "I rebelled so Dean wouldn't have to be the Michael Sword, and he decided to anyway."

"But he didn't—"

"No, he didn't," Castiel said, but it came out bitter. "I was sacrificed for nothing. A pawn thrown into the line of fire as a…as a diversion. A diversion for an abandoned plan." He almost wanted to laugh, because the alternative was to break down and weep. For what he'd lost. His home, his family, and now everything he was. Stripped away.

"He didn't mean to," Sam tried again.

"Is that supposed to make it easier?" Castiel retorted. "That instead of intentionally being cast aside, I was simply not worth the thought at all?"

Sam's face blanched. "No, Cas, that's not…"

"It doesn't matter." He turned his face away, unable to take the compassion in the hunter's eyes. "I was a soldier. That was my purpose all along. I don't know why I thought…" Castiel shook his head. "I'm afraid you've wasted your effort in securing my escape, Sam. Zachariah…" His breath hitched. "I can't help you with the fight anymore."

Sam's throat bobbed nervously. "The sigils he…they look pretty bad, and Bobby said they're for…" He hesitated, taking a deep breath before asking, "How's your grace?"

Ah, so they already knew, or at least suspected. Castiel lolled his head up to stare at the ceiling, the last of the fight draining out of him. Zachariah may be dead, but the punishment the seraph had decreed for Castiel would carry out for however long he managed to survive.

"It's gone."

* * *

Dean walked with shoulders hunched forward, hands stuffed in his pockets. Spittle splattered his face from a pewter sky. It was chilly, but nowhere near as icy as back in the motel room with Cas's look of hurt betrayal. And Dean deserved it. Cas had every right to hate him, and Dean couldn't even begin to fathom how he might make it up to the angel. How he might earn his best friend's forgiveness.

It hurt when Cas had flinched away from him, told him to leave. Dean hadn't wanted to, would have rather stayed and begged forgiveness, tried to explain his actions. But Cas wasn't in good shape to begin with, and Dean had to set his own emotions aside and give Cas the space he needed. Still, the rejection hurt. Just another nail in the coffin of guilt he'd constructed for himself.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and Dean pulled it out to find Sam's name lit up across the screen. He hit answer. "Yeah?"

"He's out again," Sam said, the unspoken 'you can come back now' carrying over the silence.

Dean opened his mouth to ask another question, but stumbled on which one to actually say. There were so many bouncing around his brain. _How pissed is he? Is he okay? Do you think he'll ever forgive me?_

"He say anything?" Dean asked instead, turning around to head back to the motel.

Sam was quiet for a beat. "He doesn't have any grace left."

Dean pulled up short, and reached a hand up to cover his eyes. _Dammit_.

"Okay," he breathed out, trying to keep his voice steady. "So no healing mojo. But he was awake and lucid, so he's gonna be fine."

Sam didn't answer again.

"Sam?" he demanded.

"Physically…yeah, I think he'll recover," his brother answered slowly.

Dean's heart stuttered. "And the rest?"

Sam let out a long breath. "I don't know Dean. I…I don't know."

"I'm on my way back." Dean picked up his pace. He hadn't gone that far, and so it only took five minutes for him to reach the motel. He slowed to a cautious walk as he approached the room door, though, wondering if Cas would have woken up again. Dean didn't know if he could bear being told to leave a second time.

But when he cracked the door open, he found Sam sitting at the dinette table, head resting in his hands. Dean glanced at the bed where Cas appeared to be asleep. Or unconscious.

"Hey," he said quietly.

Sam looked up at him, eyes red-rimmed. "Hey."

Dean stiffened. "Sammy?"

His brother shook his head and leaned back in the chair. "Things are bad, Dean."

He swallowed hard, and moved to sit across from his brother. "Cas is…?"

"Angry, hurting, confused."

Dean could only nod; what else had he expected? "Okay."

Sam's expression pinched with grief. "He thinks we view him as worthless. Expendable."

Dean's chest constricted. That made sense, given how Dean had treated Cas. But he could see how hurt his little brother was that Cas apparently felt Sam thought the same. Which wasn't fair, because this entire mess was all on Dean.

"He told me we wasted our time saving him because without his grace, he can't help us fight the Apocalypse anymore."

Dean felt the oxygen get sucked out of his lungs. "You told him he was dead wrong, right?"

"I tried." Sam shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "But he was already slipping at that point, and I don't think he really heard me." A muscle in his jaw ticked. "I don't think merely saying it is gonna make much difference anyway."

Dean grimaced, and yeah, he deserved that, too. He ran a weary hand down his face. "I'm sorry, Sam. I know I screwed up, I do. And I wish I knew how to fix it."

Sam cast a saddened look over at their unconscious friend. "So what are we gonna do?"

Dean followed his brother's gaze. Cas looked…nothing like the angel that had first marched into that barn. That had bored his gaze into Dean's soul, or quirked that confused, alien-like look when he didn't understand simple human concepts. But he was human now, or close enough. With all the weaknesses and vulnerabilities he'd never had to worry about before.

"Think he can travel by tomorrow?" Dean asked. "I know it'd be uncomfortable for a bit, but he'll be able to rest up more at Bobby's." Plus Dean would feel safer there.

Sam nodded carefully. "Yeah…the transfusion seemed to have helped. But that's not what I meant."

Dean didn't respond. He knew that's not what Sam had been asking, but Dean didn't have an answer to that question. He didn't have an answer to anything anymore.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thank you guests Pony, Z, and Guest for your reviews of chapter 6! (And Guest for your review of Brother Where You Bound also(?)) Glad to hear you're enjoying the story. ^_^ And thanks to everyone else who's been commenting, following, and favoriting too!**

* * *

Chapter 7

Sam managed to get an hour or two of sleep that night, slumped over the dinette table with his head pillowed on his arms. Despite his exhaustion, it was like an internal alarm system kept nudging him awake every hour or so, in which he'd get up to check on Cas. The blood transfusion had run its course, so Sam removed that IV line, and replaced the saline bag with a new one when it was empty. Dean watched silently from the corner of the room where he'd slid down the wall to sit on the floor. Sam knew his brother wanted to help; despite his often gruff exterior, Dean could be a real mother hen. But he was apparently afraid of waking Cas and triggering another surge of tempestuous emotions. Unfortunately, they wouldn't be able to avoid that forever.

When dawn started bleeding into the sky, Dean hauled himself off the floor and left the room, mumbling about getting the car ready for Cas. Sam sighed as he glanced at the sleeping angel…or, ex-angel. With a grim shake of his head, Sam went over and removed the other IV line. He automatically reached out to grip Cas's shoulder, only to catch himself. He didn't know if Cas's reaction yesterday was just in response to Dean touching him, or if it was post-traumatic stress. Which, the guy was totally entitled to have.

"Cas, hey," Sam called gently. He pushed down on the side of the mattress to make it dip with a creak. "Can you wake up?"

Cas's brow scrunched up. "Why?" he groaned.

Sam grimaced. "Dean wants to get on the road. I know it won't be very comfortable, but you can sleep in the backseat, and you'll be able to rest properly back at Bobby's."

Cas's eyes finally flickered open. The sheer anguish in them almost took Sam's breath away. He'd always seen Cas as this indescribable force, an ancient being of divine glory. A bit surly at times. Since being cut off from Heaven, though, Cas had started picking up a few more human traits: curiosity, the ability to laugh…the ability to be wounded. And not just physically. With Dean running off to say yes, Sam had completely forgotten that right before, Cas had basically been told his father didn't give a shit about any of them, and then the angel went and drank a liquor store. He'd probably learned that from Dean.

Sam…could actually relate to those feelings of abandonment in a way he hadn't thought about before. The idea of talking about his own daddy issues didn't sound appealing, but he made a mental note to at least broach the subject with Cas someday.

Cas's expression clouded. "I doubt Bobby will be pleased you're offering his home simply to ease Dean's guilt."

Sam cast a worried glance at the door. Thankfully, Dean was still out in the parking lot. "Dean does regret what he did," Sam said carefully. "But that's not _why_ we're taking you back to Bobby's with us. And it's definitely not _why_ we came to rescue you. You're…"

He almost said 'you're family,' but hesitated at the last second. Even though it was true that somewhere along the line, Cas had become like family to the Winchesters…telling the angel that now wouldn't help matters. It'd probably make things worse, coming across as a hollow platitude said out of…well, guilt. Actions spoke louder than words, after all, and Dean needed to do some serious repair work here.

"You're really important to us," Sam tried again. "We'd always come for you." He turned away for a brief moment to grab an extra shirt. It was one of his own flannel button-downs, which would be too big on Cas, but loose was better with those chest injuries. "Can you sit up?"

Cas eyed him for a long moment, and Sam had no idea what he was thinking, but then something like crushing defeat shrouded Cas's eyes, and without a word he started trying to push himself up. Sam held one hand out, ready to help if needed. He felt as though he were dealing with a wounded animal, and any sudden or unwanted movement would result in getting his hand bitten off.

Once Cas was upright, Sam helped him slip into the shirt. He buttoned the front partway, just enough to hide the fact Cas was covered in bandages. The angel still looked wretched, though: dark circles under his eyes and sallow skin. His jaw was clenched so tight he was in danger of cracking a tooth.

"I'll give you some morphine once we're out to the car," Sam said. They had just a little left, hopefully enough to get Cas through the worst of the drive back, and then maybe Bobby would have some resources they could tap.

Cas didn't respond, and listlessly let Sam slip an arm around his waist and help pull him to his feet. Together, they shuffled outside toward the Impala. Dean looked up from the trunk and hurried to open the back door. Sam was surprised to find his brother had padded down the backseat with blankets, bunching up some spare clothes against the opposite door so Cas could at least recline without pinching his wounds.

Dean shifted his weight awkwardly as though unsure whether to step forward and help maneuver Cas into the car or keep his distance. He ended up going around and poking his head through the driver's side, ready just in case as Cas crawled into the backseat and collapsed against the makeshift bedding.

"You good?" Dean asked, clearing his throat nervously. "If you need more blankets—"

"I'm fine," Cas replied in a low voice, avoiding Dean's eyes.

Sam fussed with one of the blankets folded up over the rear dash so he could lay it over Cas. Cas's eyes were glossy with detachment and pain, so Sam jogged back to the room to grab the morphine while Dean busied himself with packing up the rest of their stuff. After giving Cas the injection, Sam watched the drugs work, allowing Cas to sink deeper into the cushioning as they blunted some of the physical pain. Probably some of the emotional, too, since Cas nodded off soon after that.

Dean slammed the trunk closed and came around to get behind the wheel. Sam gave Cas one last check to make sure he was secure for the drive, and then climbed into the front next to his brother. The Impala's engine revved to life, and for the next couple of hours, it was the only sound that pervaded the car. Dean didn't put on any music, nor did he speak.

Sam finally decided to break up the monotony by calling Bobby and giving him a status update. "We'll be in late tonight," he said, casting a furtive glance at the speedometer Dean was blatantly ignoring.

Bobby made a thoughtful noise, probably doing the math in his head. "How's Cas?"

Sam craned his neck to look in the backseat. Cas had spent most of the drive asleep, only waking a few times when a rut in the road jarred his wounds or the discomfort was too great. He never whined or complained, though; in fact, he never made a sound except for an occasional harsh gasp.

"He'll probably feel better in a real bed," Sam replied in a low voice so as not to disturb their sleeping passenger.

"Well, I got a couple," Bobby grumbled. "But I can't exactly have it ready for when you get in."

"Yeah, no, it's okay," Sam said. Of course Bobby wouldn't be able to get upstairs to prep one of the bedrooms. Sam and Dean could handle that. "Just, uh, when you see Cas, make sure he feels like you want him there."

"Excuse me?"

Sam tried not to shift in his seat when he felt his brother's gaze glance his way. "Look, he, uh, probably doesn't want to feel like a burden. So, just don't do or say anything to suggest he's an inconvenience."

Bobby let out an exasperated huff. "Want me to hold his hand, too?"

Sam scowled, though the older hunter couldn't see it. "He's just had his grace carved out of him bit by bit by a sadistic bastard," Sam hissed. "So a little compassion wouldn't be out of line."

"Alright, fine."

Sam flicked a look at Dean, who was once again staring straight ahead, though his knuckles had tightened around the steering wheel. "So," Sam continued, wishing there was anything to say at the moment that wouldn't make his brother feel worse. "Any sign of Adam or Michael?"

"Not even a peep," Bobby replied.

"Okay, thanks. We'll see you soon."

"Be careful."

"Yeah." Sam hung up.

Dean cleared his throat. "What'd he say about Adam?"

"There's no sign of him or Michael."

Dean shook his head. "Then what the hell was it all for? Michael didn't let Adam escape; the bastard kept him trapped there, and we both know Adam was willing to say yes. So even if it wasn't the plan, Michael got a damn vessel, didn't he?"

Sam pursed his mouth. It did seem strange. Unless… "They—the angels—are probably waiting for me to say yes to Lucifer."

Dean shot him a sharp look.

"Because of the whole 'brother' thing," he elaborated. "The angels would have preferred you, but even if Michael settled for Adam, he's still a traditionalist, right? Which means he won't confront Lucifer until the Devil's wearing me. Brother against brother."

A muscle in Dean's jaw ticked. "Sam…"

"I'm _not_ gonna say yes, Dean." Even if by some small chance Sam thought it might save the world—which he knew it wouldn't—he couldn't do that to his brother and Cas. Not after everything they'd just been through. Sam couldn't let _either_ one of them down. "Which means…we still have time to think of a way to stop it."

Dean glanced in the rearview mirror. "Time," he repeated quietly.

Sam looked back at Cas too. They needed time to fix a lot of things. "It's my turn to drive."

Dean started to shake his head, and Sam responded with a firm, "Just pull over, Dean."

Dean huffed in annoyance, but guided the Impala toward the shoulder. "I want to get there before midnight," he groused.

Sam didn't bother responding with a snippy retort; he wanted to get to Bobby's as soon as possible, too. "I can do that."

Dean braked to a stop, and the two of them jumped out to switch places. To Sam's relief, Dean ended up dozing off half an hour later, and though the silence of two sleeping figures made it more difficult for Sam to stay awake himself, he was at least relieved his brother and friend were resting.

Sam may not have pushed the speed limits as much as Dean liked to, but they still arrived at Bobby's early that night. Dean jerked awake as soon as the Impala slowed to rattle over the dirt drive toward the house. They came to a stop and Sam threw the car in park.

"You want to go upstairs and get a room ready for Cas?" he suggested.

Dean nodded morosely. "Yeah, sure." He got out, went around to get their bags from the trunk, and headed inside without another word.

Sam sighed. He wasn't trying to punish his brother by being distant; he just wanted to give Cas the space he needed while he dealt with things. Sam got out and went to open the back door. He had to lean in halfway in order to tap Cas's shoulder and nudge him awake.

"Cas, we're here."

Cas's eyelids fluttered groggily, and his pallor suddenly took on a greenish tinge. Groaning, he tried to curl in on himself, which only succeeded in pulling at the lacerations.

"Cas?" Sam called worriedly. "What's wrong?"

"I don't want to move," he moaned.

"Uh, okay, but the house isn't far, and you'll be more comfortable inside." Without the car running, it was quickly getting cold.

"I don't like this feeling," Cas said, wrapping an arm around his stomach.

Sam frowned. "What feeling, Cas?" He wedged his way into the backseat when the angel didn't respond, and touched Cas's shoulder. "Hey, let me help you. What are you feeling?"

Cas blinked blearily at him, then gestured vaguely at his stomach. "Hollow. No, like…being tossed on the sea." He pressed his face into the blankets. "Moving makes it worse."

Shit, they hadn't given Cas anything to eat, and Sam had been pumping him full of morphine. They really had to do better at thinking of Cas as human now, almost like a child, because it wasn't like the angel was going to know what his needs were.

"Okay, okay, that's nausea," Sam said, figuring it might help for Cas to have a name for it. The unknown could be terrifying. "Eating will help."

"I don't need to eat," he groaned into the bunched up jackets.

Sam's shoulders sagged. "You do now, Cas," he said gently. "Look, let's get inside, and I'll grab some crackers. It'll help, I promise."

Cas gave him a skeptical look, but at a little more prompting, reluctantly uncurled and sat up. Sam gripped his arm when he swayed, and yeah, he was looking a lot more green. Sam tried to pull Cas out of the car carefully but quickly in case he really did throw up. Not that Dean would think of yelling at Cas in his condition, but still. No need to add the stressor.

Cas stumbled and staggered, trying to double over in pain, and Sam ducked in to sling an arm over his shoulder.

"Almost there. Just a few more steps," he coaxed. "Breathe through your nose."

They made it up the porch steps and into the house. Bobby was in the foyer, and upon seeing them, his normally gruff expression shifted to concern.

"I'm gonna put him on the couch for a bit," Sam said. "Can you get some crackers, Bobby? We didn't exactly stop for food on the way here."

Bobby arched a brow, but one look at Cas's sickly complexion, and the hunter was wheeling into the kitchen.

Sam half-carried Cas into the living room and eased him down onto the sofa. By now, Cas was sweating lightly from the exertion.

"So this is what it means to be human," he said, voice taking on an unsettling, distant tone.

Sam frowned. "You're just tired and in pain right now. It'll get better."

Bobby wheeled into the room, lap balancing a package of saltines, water bottle, and a bucket. "I suppose I could put on some stew," he offered, handing the crackers to Sam. The bucket he placed next to the couch.

"Probably a good idea." Sam ripped open the plastic wrapper and passed the crackers to Cas. "Here. Nibble on these."

Cas looked at the saltines like Dean would a plate of escargot, but nevertheless tentatively lifted a cracker to his mouth.

Dean came down the stairs then. "Bed's made up."

Sam nodded in acknowledgement. After a prolonged beat, he cleared his throat when he realized the three of them were staring at Cas. "Bobby was gonna make some stew," Sam said, tone laced with the subtle message of, ' _you could help him_.'

"Right." Bobby turned his wheelchair around and headed back into the kitchen.

Dean was still watching Cas, who was pointedly not meeting Dean's gaze. "Those bandages should be changed."

Sam saw the way Cas stiffened, and had to hold back a tired sigh. This was not going to be easy. "I can do that," he said. "If that's okay, Cas?"

Cas didn't respond for a long moment, chewing on a cracker instead.

"Dude, it has to be done," Dean interrupted. "You don't want me near you, that's fine. But Sam's gotta at least check them."

Sam wanted to smack his brother, but settled for shooting him a scathing glare. _Real nice, Dean_. His brother had the decency to look ashamed.

"Right, I'll just go help with the food." Dean turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

Sam moved closer to Cas, sinking down to sit on the armrest of the couch. "Those helping?"

Cas's brow furrowed as though he had to think about it. He slowly nodded. "Th-thank you, Sam."

He managed a small smile. "You're gonna get through this, okay, Cas? Dean and I are gonna help you get through this."

Cas lifted deadened eyes to his. Sam could see Cas didn't believe him, but the angel didn't argue. He simply went back to nibbling on the crackers. And the truth was, Sam didn't even know how they'd get their friend through this. How did one help an angel who'd fallen from grace in every sense of the word?


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

If human feelings were confusing enough to deal with, being subjected to this new mortal weakness was even worse. Castiel could not heal his vessel, his body. Could not will away its pain with a mere flare of grace. Because his grace was gone. Everything he ever was, ripped away and shattered beyond repair. He'd been an angel, a being of light and divine purpose. Now…now he could not move without aches, was bound by physical limitations and base human necessities like food and sleep. Those first few days at Bobby's, Castiel had needed to rely on Sam a great deal, including the mortifying task of moving from the bed to the bathroom. Such an experience was a torture equal to that which Zachariah had inflicted.

Sam was endlessly patient, and in between bouts of chagrin and frustration, Castiel found himself in awe of the hunter's selflessness. It once again reaffirmed how wrong Castiel and Heaven were to declare this young man an abomination.

Even so, caring for Castiel and running interference with Dean was taking a toll on the younger Winchester. Castiel could see the lines of exhaustion tightening Sam's mouth, the heavy slump to his shoulders. Castiel tried to be less of a burden, but the humiliating truth was he just didn't know how to do things. That was the main reason he didn't try to leave. Where would he go? How would he manage his now frail, human condition? And most of all, what would he do with himself? He may have championed the human race, stood against Destiny to protect them, but he did not fit among them. Castiel did not miss the subtle eye rolls or expressions of impatience that sometimes flickered across Bobby's or Dean's faces when they thought he wasn't looking. No, Castiel did not fit. Never had and never would. More than once, he wished Zachariah had finished the job and simply killed him.

The floorboard creaked, but Castiel didn't have to look away from the window to know it was Sam. Bobby couldn't access the upstairs of his own home, and Dean's movements were always unsure and hesitant when he came by, which was rarely.

"Hey, Cas," Sam greeted.

Castiel finally tore his gaze away from the sparrows in flight. Watching them brought a tightness to his chest, and yet he couldn't seem to stop. _'Look at the birds. They don't plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren't you far more valuable to him than they are?'_ Obviously, that was not the case.

"Sam," he acknowledged.

"How you doing?"

"Fine." He'd learned that from the Winchesters. Even if one felt as though they were coming apart at the seams, it wasn't to be spoken of. What was that human colloquialism? 'Open a can of worms.' Yes, that was it. And Castiel did not want to let loose the dark, ugly thing festering deep inside him.

Sam's mouth pursed as though he had something to say, but wasn't quite sure how to broach it. Castiel instinctively tensed.

"Dude, you're gonna get cabin fever if you don't get out of this room and do something."

Castiel's mouth turned down. He wasn't familiar with that human ailment, but he most certainly did not want to be ill again. "What should I do?"

"Well, we're still trying to find a way to stop the Apocalypse. And Bobby said you were putting together an Enochian dictionary for him."

Oh. That…that was a reasonable request. After all, Castiel should start earning his keep, and he had little else to contribute. Plus, it gave him purpose, which was what he'd been missing since losing his grace. So even without his powers, he could still be useful. But…then why did the idea leave a sour taste in his mouth? He should be relieved—but in actuality, he felt as though the Winchesters were only keeping him around to milk him for every last drop of usefulness.

But what was the alternative?

With a wordless nod, Castiel pried himself away from the window and the vista that represented a freedom he would never have again. He followed Sam downstairs to where Dean and Bobby were in the study, pouring over old tomes of lore. Castiel avoided looking at Dean. The older Winchester had tried engaging him a few times before by asking if he needed anything, or trying to get his input for meals. It was almost like extending an offer of friendship, but Castiel was leery of it. He'd thought that's what he'd had before, but had obviously misunderstood. Even now, he realized he was still being utilized as a tool. Which was fine. It should have been fine.

Castiel devoted himself to compiling that Enochian dictionary. He rarely spoke, except in monosyllabic responses when asked a question, or to briefly explain some concept one of them didn't understand. He would've ignored his wretched need for sleep and food entirely if it weren't for Sam or Dean insisting on a break and forcing him to accompany them.

"Cas," Sam said at one point, worry in his tone. He always spoke like that with Castiel now. "When I suggested you get into research, I didn't mean drive yourself into the ground doing it."

Castiel didn't respond. He had to pour himself fully into his task, because if he didn't, his thoughts would crash into the forefront of his mind, and he did not like the tracks they ventured down—paths of painful memories, or worse, questions about his future. Those terrified him the most because he could not see it, could not see himself adapting to this new existence. Didn't…didn't _want_ to adapt.

He ignored those doubts and dark thoughts for now, though. There was no guarantee he'd survive the Apocalypse anyway. He could use up the rest of himself trying to help the Winchesters fight it, even though it wore on him in a way he'd never experienced before. A lot of things whittled away at the last of his spirit.

When it came time to remove his stitches, Castiel couldn't help but stare at the myriad of scars marring his chest. He'd never given thought to Jimmy Novak's blemishes, had never been burdened with notions of physical vanity. But then, this body had just been a vessel before, a means to interact with the earthly plane. It wasn't truly him.

Now it was, and Castiel found the scars hideous. An eternal reminder of every cut Zachariah had made, of every moment of weakness where Castiel had cried out or pleaded for mercy that never came…of Dean activating that banishing sigil.

Castiel started trying to think of ways he could erase those marks. Obviously, he could not heal them, but maybe if he defaced them in some way, whether by his own blade, or perhaps fire. Fire was renewal, destroying the old so something new could be reborn from the ashes. And Castiel was a new thing, after all, not angel, not human.

But while he entertained the idea, he wasn't sure this feeble human body could endure more injury. Maybe that wouldn't be a bad thing… But again, given the looming Apocalypse and his uncertain survival, it didn't warrant taking action at this time. It still rankled him, though, and he covered the scars with layers of borrowed shirts to go with the borrowed jeans. The Winchesters had managed to get most of the blood stains out of Jimmy Novak's clothes, but they'd also insisted Castiel would be more comfortable wearing these other ones. Oddly, however, he felt all the more _uncomfortable_ in the strange attire.

The back screen door banged open, startling Castiel so that the pen he was holding slipped, scoring a black streak through the sigil he'd been carefully transcribing. He stared at the blot for a long moment. It ruined the whole page. Rendered the last hour of work useless.

Dean entered the study, the scent of motor oil and grease permeating the air around him. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, and he was drying his hands on a rag. He'd been outside working on the Impala all day.

"How's it going?" Dean asked, flicking a glance first at Bobby and then at Castiel. Sam was out running errands.

"Peachy," Bobby replied without looking up from his book.

Castiel slowly put the pen down. Then he crumpled up the page and tossed it in the wastebasket with a little more force than was necessary.

Dean arched a brow. "Jeez, Cas, what'd it to do you?"

Castiel blinked, not understanding the question. "The…pen slipped." He would not blame Dean, nor admit that he'd been startled in the first place.

Frowning, Dean came over and retrieved the piece of paper from the basket, unfolding it to look. "We have white-out."

He said it as though it should have been obvious, as though Castiel should have known better—or known what white-out even was. And for some reason, that little thing was what finally snapped Castiel's tenuous cord of composure the past week had slowly been eroding.

He surged to his feet, bumping the table hard enough to knock a book onto the floor. "I don't even know what that is. Before, I would have just 'mojo-ed' the mistake away. But I can't do that now. I can't help you fight the Apocalypse, can't 'zap' in whenever you need something. I can't do _anything_."

Dean blanched. "Cas…"

"I've tried to be useful," Castiel barreled on, cutting Dean off. It was the most he'd spoken to the older Winchester, to any of them, in days, and while part of him desperately wanted to be quiet, he couldn't hold back the torrent now that it'd been unleashed. "But I'm more of a burden to you than I am useful. You wouldn't keep around a lame horse, so I don't understand why you won't just put me _down_."

Dean actually reeled back a step, expression slack in stupefaction. The silence in the study was suddenly electrically charged, and Castiel realized with sickening mortification what he'd just done. While Dean still seemed to be fumbling to recover, Castiel pushed past him and stormed out the door into the salvage yard. He wanted to fly away, from this place, from everything. More than that, he just wanted all the pain to _stop_. He didn't want to feel these conflicting emotions anymore.

Castiel nearly collapsed against a rusted out truck, bracing his hands on the tailgate to hold himself up as his heart pounded erratically and his breathing became strained. He tipped his head back to look at a blue sky smeared with windswept clouds edged in peach and gold. It used to be God who painted the skies like that. But he was gone, had abandoned them all. Wound up the world and left it to run until everything burned in the wake of Lucifer and Michael's confrontation.

Hot moisture pricked at the corners of Castiel's eyes, and he imagined this must have been what it felt like to kneel in the Garden of Gethsemane. To feel an anguish so intense a human body produced sweat and tears of actual blood.

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut, head bowed in defeat as he prayed to a father who had forsaken him.

 _Why?_

* * *

Bobby stared at the door Castiel had disappeared through. The fallen angel's outburst had been…surprising. Guy could bore holes through you with his severe gaze, but he never raised his voice, never expressed emotions aside from confusion or a glimmer of vexation, usually directed at Dean. This had caught them both off guard.

Bobby flicked his attention back to Dean, who was still standing as though he'd been hit with a stupid ray. Boy looked like he was gonna be sick, too. But instead of going after Cas, Dean merely turned and went back into the kitchen. Probably to raid the liquor cabinet.

With a huff, Bobby turned back to the book he'd been reading. Only, he couldn't seem to focus on the text. Cas's words were niggling at the back of his mind, and the more they simmered, the more angry Bobby got. He finally shoved the tome away and backed his wheelchair out from the desk. Spinning around, he wheeled outside in search of one stupid angel.

Getting around the salvage yard wasn't as easy as it used to be, which fired up Bobby's indignation even more. _Lame horse_? If he had his legs, he'd kick Castiel's ass into next week. He'd have to settle for a verbal thrashing instead.

Cas hadn't gone far, and Bobby found him standing near an old Ford pick-up, head bowed and shoulders practically shaking.

"Oh, cry me a river," Bobby growled.

Cas jerked upright, posture immediately going rigid in a semblance of his old angel-of-the-lord stance. His brow furrowed. "What?"

Bobby's wheelchair crunched over gravel. "Guess you think I should be put down like a lame horse, too, huh?" He slapped the side of his unfeeling leg.

Cas quirked a confused look at him. "That's…not what I said."

"That's exactly what you said. You wanna bitch about being 'useful' in front of the paraplegic?"

Cas blinked, and there might have been a flicker of remorse, but Bobby was too pissed to care. Cas shook his head. "It's not the same."

Oh, Bobby wished he had a crowbar. Except, that'd probably do some actual damage this time around. He crossed his arms. "You're not that stupid. So we've both been relegated to desk duty. Suck it up."

Cas looked genuinely confused. "You're family to Sam and Dean. That makes you more valuable regardless of your ability to walk or hunt, or even your book knowledge."

Bobby was ready to chew out the ex-angel again, but Cas's despondent tone gave him pause before the words fully registered. He stared at the ancient being in front of him incredulously. Bobby had frankly never understood what Dean and Sam saw in Castiel; as far as he was concerned, angels were pretty close to monsters. They were supernatural. _Other_. And yeah, Bobby had seen Cas as a powerful ally (even though the cloud hopper couldn't heal his damn legs). But he knew the boys viewed Cas differently. "And what do you think you are?"

Cas looked away, and it was a prolonged beat before he answered in a low voice. "A hammer."

Bobby frowned. He remembered Dean adamantly saying Cas wasn't a hammer when the boys had been determined to go rescue the angel. The fact that they both used the same word meant there was a context there that Bobby didn't know about. He'd have to ask another time, though.

"But that's fine," Cas went on. "I was a soldier for millennia. I followed orders. I was useful. That was my purpose." He shook his head. "But I'm broken now."

Bobby glanced around the yard, wishing Sam was back already. He was better equipped to deal with this emotional crap. Bobby cleared his throat awkwardly. "The boys think of you like family, too. They drove halfway across the country to rescue you from Zachariah."

"They came for Adam. My rescue was incidental."

"Adam may be blood," Bobby began angrily, "and yeah, Sam and Dean weren't gonna abandon the kid, but it was _you_ Dean refused to leave behind."

Cas gave a slow nod. "When he thought I still had my powers."

Bobby clenched his fists. Fighting the urge to deck the idiot was getting harder and harder, but Bobby reminded himself that kicking a guy when he was already down wasn't a good idea. And knocking sense into an ex-angel wouldn't work like it would for one of the boys.

"You know, for a once all-powerful being, you're being really stupid right now."

Cas flashed him a hurt look.

"I know Dean screwed up bad with what he pulled in the panic room. But everything before that—and after—makes it pretty damn clear how those boys feel about you."

Cas canted his head with that familiar look of befuddlement he'd worn so often as an angel.

Bobby sighed. "Well, I guess Sam and Dean _aren't_ exactly good in the touchy-feely department." Sam was capable of being more sensitive, but he held things in as much as Dean did. Not that Bobby was any better. Half of this conversation of him trying to 'comfort' Cas involved yelling.

"And…" Bobby added as an afterthought. "Angels probably aren't that in touch with their emotions, either." Dicks with wings. Bobby hadn't considered anything beyond that, but maybe it wasn't so much that Cas was an emotionless asshole, as he was conditioned not to reveal too much.

"Emotions are…" Cas's jaw worked as though chewing on the words was bitter. "Human. Angels who feel…they inevitably fall."

Right. And here they were. "So we're all quite the dysfunctional bunch," Bobby said, letting out a half-snort of amusement.

Cas had stopped arguing, and was now gazing at the ground in contemplation.

Bobby wheeled closer and placed a hesitant hand on his elbow. "Look, Cas, I was serious. Sam and Dean care more about you than I've seen them care about anyone. And maybe that don't sound like much in comparison, but family is the most important thing to those two." He paused. "And sometimes families hurt each other."

Cas's hand drifted up toward his chest, perhaps subconsciously, and Bobby realized it'd been a fellow angel, a family member, who'd tortured Cas and ripped out his grace.

"But they also fight like hell to protect each other," Bobby rambled on, hoping he wasn't about to lose Cas in the mire of his inept consolation attempts. "And family don't end in blood. Sometimes, it's the family you choose that's stronger. And I'm telling you, you've got that title with Sam and Dean, whether you want it or not."

Cas remained quiet and thoughtful, so Bobby tugged at his sleeve.

"Come back inside, son. It's gettin' cold."

Cas lifted wavering blue eyes to his, and some of the darkness in their depths seemed to have receded. He nodded slowly. "Thank you."

Bobby shrugged it off gruffly. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't go gettin' sentimental on me."

"Of course," Cas replied, and if Bobby didn't know better, he'd think there was a trace of amusement in the kid's tone.

He turned the wheelchair around and started back toward the house, Cas's presence keeping pace beside him.

* * *

 **A/N: Only one more chapter left! And it will be full of healing and feels, at last. ^_^**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thank you Pony, Guest, and Quester for your reviews! I'm glad you've been enjoying this. Now let's finally get to some healing feels.**

* * *

Chapter 9

Dean stared at his unopened bottle of beer. Normally, he would have downed two by now without a second thought. But he did a lot of things without thinking them through. Deciding to run off to say yes to Michael. Painting that banishing sigil in the panic room. He was thinking now, though. Cas's words swirled around and around in his head, a maelstrom of accusation and bitterness. Dean didn't know whether to feel guilty or angry, because yeah, he'd messed up, but he had owned up to it. Had been trying to make it up to Cas, but the dude had been pointedly ignoring him. Sam was the one who'd been helping Cas adjust to his new human situation, treating the wounds Dean was responsible for, and at least being allowed to freakin' _talk_ to the guy. Dean refused to admit that he was a little hurt by that, but then, it was no less than he deserved. He just wished he knew how to _fix_ it.

And things needed fixing, were in much worse shape than Dean had initially realized. Cas was hurting. Shit, he wanted the Winchesters to _put him down_? Like a friggin' 'lame horse'? Dean was torn between socking Cas and throwing up. He'd done this to his best friend. And if Dean didn't figure something out soon, they were in danger of losing Cas for good.

He heard the door swing open and then close, and then the creak of the stairs as someone headed up them. A moment later, Bobby wheeled into the kitchen. The older hunter arched a surprised brow at the unopened beer bottle on the table.

"What's the deal with the hammer?" Bobby asked pointedly.

Dean frowned. "What?"

"You said Cas wasn't a hammer; Cas said he is."

Dean's chest constricted. "Cas said that?"

"Yeah. So what's the story?" Bobby snatched the beer off the table and popped the lid off before taking a swig for himself. Dean couldn't even muster up a smidgen of indignation. He leaned his elbows on the table and braced his head in his hands.

"I called Cas a hammer before, back when we were still trying to stop the Seals from breaking and he was all about following orders. Later…he confessed he 'wasn't a hammer,' that he had doubts." Dean shook his head. "If you had seen him then, Bobby, he was…it was the first time he seemed…" Dean curled his mouth at the now distasteful word. "Human. And then…I don't know, Cas got sent back to Heaven for a short time and when he came back he was a dick again."

Which meant, Dean realized with sickening clarity, that this wasn't the first time Zach had tortured Cas.

Bobby sipped his beer slowly. "Well, things are starting to make a little more sense."

"Dammit," Dean muttered. So he hadn't just been careless with his actions, but his words, too. But why did it matter so much? Cas was an angel. He was supposed to be above all the pettiness. _So that's supposed to make it okay to treat him like crap?_ "Shit," he cursed again.

"Get over it," Bobby snipped. "Yeah, you screwed up, but it looks like the roots of this go a lot deeper than just you."

Yeah, and Dean had just reinforced it.

Bobby shook his head. "Can't believe I'm sayin' this, but we've got a depressed fallen angel who doesn't know how to be human. And since he fell trying to help us, I figure we should do our best to help him in return."

"I want to if he would just _let_ me," Dean said bitterly.

Bobby snorted. "Since when do you take 'no' for an answer?" With that, he set the beer back on the table and wheeled away.

Dean considered the bottle for a long moment. In every other situation, he'd down a bit to work up the nerve for something like this. But it was probably better to do it fully sober. So he stood up and made his way upstairs.

Cas's bedroom door was closed, and Dean hesitated outside it. Every time Cas ignored him or told him to go away hurt, like a splinter in his finger worming deeper with each rejection. Well, screw it, Dean was ripping that splinter out. He knocked to announce himself, but didn't wait for an answer before opening the door and entering the room. Cas was sitting by the window, head leaning back against the chair to gaze up at the gloaming sky.

Dean cleared his throat.

"I apologize for my outburst," Cas said, like he'd been holding onto that until Dean came to reprimand him. "And my inconsiderateness toward Bobby."

Dean suddenly wondered what the older hunter had said to Cas outside. It hadn't occurred to him Bobby would be offended by what Cas said, though it made sense. And yet somehow that conversation turned toward Bobby being more understanding of Cas…

"You've been through a lot," Dean said. "You're allowed to lose your shit every once in a while." He took a few tentative steps closer. "What you said…"

"Was callous and unfair."

Dean shook his head. "No, just…" He exhaled sharply. There was a lot that needed to be addressed, but one thing was at the forefront of his worry. "Are you thinking of killing yourself?"

Cas finally angled his head to look up at him. The intensity Dean was so used to seeing in those blue eyes was painfully absent. Cas didn't appear as angry as he'd been downstairs, but there was still a shroud of despondency about him.

"No," he finally said, yet it was blunt and not at all reassuring.

"Okay, that's good." Dean slowly moved to lean against the window sill. "You'll tell me if you start feeling that way?" He swallowed hard. "Or at least tell Sam?"

Cas rolled his shoulder in discomfort. "Those feelings are…unpleasant. I don't want to talk about them."

"I hear you. But Cas…talking about it is the only way to deal with things."

"You don't."

Dean sighed. "I'm not a good role model. In a lot of ways." Reaching up to rub the back of his neck, he moved to crouch in front of Cas, meeting him at eye level. "How can I prove to you that you're not a hammer? Not to us. Not to me. You're…you're my best friend, and I ain't got many of those. Just you and Sam, really."

Cas ducked his gaze doubtfully. Dean reached out to grip his arm. Cas tensed, but at least didn't jerk away.

"I know I haven't done right by you, Cas," Dean continued. "I, I took you for granted, did some awful stuff I can't ever take back. I've done some shitty stuff to Sam, too, and god knows why the kid always forgives me… I don't deserve your forgiveness, either, but even though I can be a jackass sometimes, I promise I _won't_ be like your dick brothers upstairs. I'm not gonna turn my back on you."

Cas was silent, still not looking directly at him, and Dean braced himself for rejection once more.

"My brothers did cast me out…" Cas began, voice catching slightly. His expression pinched with a haunted memory, and Dean wished he could erase everything Zachariah had done. Cas had been through too much. They all had. And how sad was it that pain and loss served to unify them more thoroughly than anything else? But maybe it made the bond stronger.

Dean squeezed Cas's arm. "I'm not going to do that. Neither is Sam, or Bobby. You're family, now. I know the words don't mean much, given everything that's happened. Not…not just with me, but with the other angels. But I _will_ show you, Cas."

Cas didn't say anything for a moment, but he finally lifted his gaze to Dean. "Humans continue to astound me. You and Sam and Bobby have shown me a kindness beyond what even angels are capable of."

There was something tragically backwards about that statement, and Dean was glad he'd never had much faith in a higher power to begin with. The disappointment must be crushing.

"And I know I have not made it easy on you," Cas went on.

Dean shook his head to stop him. "Hell, Cas, I don't make it easy on anyone, either."

There was a small glimmer in Cas's eyes at that, but then he sobered, gaze drifting back toward the window and up at the night sky where stars were starting to pierce the veil. "I don't know how to do this, Dean."

Dean flashed back to that future Cas, doped up to hide from the messy complications of becoming human. He didn't know how his future self had failed Cas in that timeline. Probably the same way he'd failed Sam. That wasn't gonna happen here.

His knees were beginning to lock, so Dean straightened, but moved back to the window to catch Cas's eye again. "I'll help you. I'll teach you how to be human, how to be a hunter. It'll be me, you, and Sam, on the road, fighting monsters." His lips quirked. "The family business."

"If we survive the Apocalypse," Cas said solemnly.

Dean sighed. "Yeah, that."

Cas looked up at him. "If we do, though, I…I think I could manage that. With you and Sam."

Dean allowed himself a small smile. "No matter what happens, Cas, with everything, you'll always have a home here. With us."

Cas nodded slowly, gaze turning slightly inward again. "Home."

Dean's chest constricted with both fear and hope. "Yeah."

* * *

Sam didn't know what had happened to cause the shift, but all he knew was that the tension that had been steadily mounting over the past several days seemed to have fizzled out some. When Cas took his seat at the table that night, there was less rigidness in his posture, his expression less hooded. He still looked worn and uncertain, but there was something like a glimmer of openness when Dean asked him how dinner tasted.

Cas furrowed his brow as though it were a question to be given serious consideration. "Tangy."

"That'd be the barbecue sauce," Dean replied without a single hint of exasperation at Cas's literal answer. "Do you like it?"

Cas's frowned deepened. "I…I think so."

Dean grinned like a kid, and took a massive bite out of his own burger. Sam found himself smiling, too, and arched a questioning brow when he caught his brother's gaze. Dean gave him a subtle look that said 'later.'

It wasn't until late, after Cas had gone to bed, that Sam heard about the angel's outburst and Dean finally talking things out with Cas. Sam was relieved his brother had gotten over his emotional constipation. Cas was definitely struggling, and Sam had been really worried about him. As much as he wanted to help, Dean needed to be an active partner in Cas's recovery. Sounded like they had finally made the right first step.

Things were by no means perfect, of course. Cas's feelings about worth and usefulness continued to plague the fallen angel, as evidenced by his throwing himself right back into research the following morning. Sam kinda regretted suggesting Cas help with it, though idleness wasn't going to help him, either. Still, Sam didn't want to unintentionally reinforce some of those deeply rooted—and wrong—beliefs.

He strode into the study that morning with two jackets in hand, and held one out to Cas. "Let's take a break."

Cas frowned at him. "It's not lunch time yet."

"Not that kind of break. The kind where we get out, take a walk."

Cas was still eyeing him dubiously. "The Apocalypse is looming and we're running out of time."

"Bobby and Dean are still here. They can cover while we're gone." Sam softened his expression. "The world's not gonna end if we take an hour for ourselves. And it'll be good for us. That's just as important."

"Alright." Cas reluctantly accepted the jacket and slipped it on. Movement seemed to cause him much less pain now that his wounds were almost fully healed.

Sam led the way out into the yard, but turned the opposite direction from the scrap heaps and toward a field. "Bobby used to play catch with me and Dean out here," he said, smiling fondly at the memory that seemed a lifetime ago.

Cas squinted at the reedy grass and patches of bare dirt. "When your father left you here to go hunt?" he said almost hesitantly.

"Yeah." They walked toward the road, past a stretch of dilapidated fence.

"Sam…"

"Yeah?"

"Your…your father loved you?"

Sam stopped, mouth thinning at the question and wondering where it was coming from. But then he remembered. Cas must have been taking Dean's advice about talking things out to heart. And while Sam thought that was a good thing, he actually wasn't sure _he_ was ready to have this conversation. But getting Cas to open up wasn't easy, and this might be his only opportunity.

Taking a deep breath, Sam looked out over the field, the breeze stinging his eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, he did."

"But he still…" Sam looked back as Cas's throat bobbed. "Left. At times."

Sam nodded sadly. "Didn't mean he loved us any less. He just…showed it the best way he knew how." Sam hadn't understood that for a long time. All those fights, the estrangement. But John Winchester hadn't exactly had an easy life. Ran in the family.

Cas's gaze turned solemn. "Yes. I can see that. He…he always came back."

Sam frowned. "Coming back didn't make the abandonment hurt any less. …Or make it acceptable. Even if God came back right now and stopped all this, it wouldn't change how he hurt you."

Cas stared out at the vista. "I've never met him, you know. My father. I don't know why it hurts so much."

"Because he's your dad."

Cas didn't respond, gaze tracking a pair of birds as they dove in and out of each other's flight paths across the field. There was a profound sadness in the angel's bearing as he watched them, and with a jolt, Sam realized Cas must be missing his wings.

Dammit, yet another thing Cas had to deal with. Sam didn't think he'd be able to handle even getting out of bed if he were in Cas's shoes. And he sure as hell didn't know how to help someone get through that kind of thing.

"We should head back," Cas spoke up.

"Yeah, sure." Sam had meant to get them both out for a respite, but now he just felt more beaten down and weary.

"Sam," Cas said again, stopping when they were a few yards from the house. "I cannot thank you enough for everything you've done for me recently."

Sam immediately shook his head. "You don't have to thank me, Cas."

"But I want to," the angel barreled on. "I…I think I might have given up already if it weren't for you."

Sam stood there, stunned. Dean had also mentioned Cas's potential suicidal leanings, but Sam hadn't realized…he didn't think he'd made that much of a difference.

For a brief moment, Cas's gaze resembled the piercing intensity from when he was a full angel. "Everything you've been through in life," Cas started. "You are the epitome of endurance and the power of the human spirit. I…I can only hope to be as strong."

Sam didn't know what to say. That was not how he'd describe himself. He kept going because…well, he just had to. Giving up wasn't an option. It wasn't about being strong. Not for himself, anyway…

Sam reached out to clasp Cas's shoulder. "Funny you should say that, because I was just thinking how strong you are to have survived everything this past year, these past few weeks. I don't think I could have."

Cas ducked his gaze. "It…doesn't feel strong."

Sam gave him a sympathetic smile. "I know it doesn't. Believe me. And surviving is the easy part. Living afterward…that's hard." He tightened his grip. "But we'll help each other."

Cas lifted his head, eyes glistening. He slowly nodded. "Yes."

That's what family was for.

* * *

Castiel could not say the next few days were easy. Or better. But they were…less bad. He didn't feel as though he were suffocating, struggling to keep all his roiling emotions locked down tight. They were still there, and flared up from time to time, but he seemed to be getting a better handle on how to deal with them that didn't involve snapping at someone or throwing anything.

He still mainly focused on research and translating ancient texts for Bobby, but would occasionally stop to contemplate things. Sometimes he would go for a walk, either by himself or with Sam. A few times he'd go out to watch Dean work on the Impala, and the silence between them would be companionable rather than fraught with tension. Castiel believed he had forgiven Dean—forgiveness was a choice, after all—though there were times when nightmares of Hell or Michael wearing Dean's face would plague him. Castiel did not talk about those with the older Winchester, but he did confide in Sam. The wounds on his chest faded to light pink, less angry, and with their healing it was almost as though the fury of Castiel's emotions started to heal as well. He began to think of the future with more intent than he had, and though the idea was still daunting, he nevertheless attempted to face it with the staunchness befitting the human spirit he was now counted among.

A case came up, and the boys began packing to head out to Indiana. Castiel, however, wavered when Dean asked him to tag along. He retreated to his room, idly surveying the few hand-me-down clothes he'd started to accumulate. He didn't have any weapons, not like Dean did, and his angel blade was long gone, though he could have just used one the Winchesters had picked up. But while Castiel may have been a skilled fighter, he realized he would have to learn to do things the human way, for there were more vulnerabilities he would have to adjust and account for. He did not want to endanger the brothers.

Decision made, Castiel headed back downstairs.

"Cas, you ready?" Dean asked, slinging his duffel bag over one shoulder.

"I think I should stay here."

Dean straightened. "What? Why?"

Castiel glanced at Sam, searching for signs of disappointment. The younger Winchester merely appeared openly concerned. "I should learn a bit more before I accompany you on real hunts."

Dean frowned. "I told you I'd teach you, Cas."

"I know," he said hurriedly, and then flicked his gaze to Bobby, who had wheeled in to bid them farewell. Castiel turned his attention back to Dean. "I do want to learn from you. You and Sam are exceptional hunters. But…" He hesitated, glancing at Bobby again. "I think I would benefit from starting with the one who taught you."

Dean and Sam exchanged a confused look before they seemed to realize who Castiel had meant.

Bobby scowled when three sets of eyes trained on him. "What is this, Hogwarts School of Hunting?"

"He's right," Sam chimed in. "You are the best."

"I didn't teach you boys half of what you learned, you know that. Besides," he huffed. "I ain't exactly in top condition."

Castiel could feel Dean eyeing him carefully, and shifted to face the Winchester. But instead of hurt or anger, Dean just seemed thoughtful. After another beat, his eyes lit up with understanding.

"You taught us a lot more than that," he said. "And you're twice the teacher Dad ever was." Dean cast Castiel a quick smile. "He won't go easy on you, though. So, last chance to hop in the car with us."

Castiel's lips twitched. "I think I'm up to the challenge."

Dean and Sam grinned, while Bobby continued grumbling incoherent mutterings under his breath.

Dean stepped closer and clapped Castiel on the shoulder. "We'll be back."

Castiel nodded, another stitch of tightness in his chest unraveling. "I know."

* * *

 **A/N: And there we have it, another story coming to a close. One last shout-out to 29Pieces for beta reading. Thanks again to everyone who followed, favorited, and reviewed! First chapter of the next story will be up Friday, a less angsty, but still full of whump case!fic. *g***


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